


Heroica

by DWM



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minotaur Myth AU with Faun Charles, More characters to be added as they appear in the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 24,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DWM/pseuds/DWM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a meme prompt:</p>
<p>King and Queen Xavier do something to piss off the gods. To punish them/her Aphrodite or author!anon's choice of goddess of love dubcons the Queen into lust for a goat. Bestiality ensues (feel free to gloss over this part) and the outcome is faun!Charles. He's kept secret at first when he's little but as he gets older rumors start abound regarding the "monster" and he's eventually chained away in the Labyrinth to keep the populace calm.</p>
<p>A few years down the line, the rumors have gotten even more outrageous resulting in an annual sacrifice of slaves to Charles. He, of course, helps free them; they're never seen again so this just feeds into the myth. Erik, a wandering prince whose throne was seized by the evil Shaw comes to town and is appalled and decides to slay the monster and save all those slaves.</p>
<p>Of course, instead of a monster he meets faun!Charles and then there is falling in love, daring escapes, and maybe even toppling Shaw. :-)</p>
<p>tl;dr: Erik is a dispossessed prince. Faun!Charles is the rumored Minotaur that Erik comes to slay only to find he's not a monster at all. They fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize terribly for any historical inaccuracies that may appear, I investigated some but I'm sure I'm missing big stuff since I'm not exactly very well versed in history. 
> 
> I'm open to any critique and recommendations. Also, this work is mostly unbeta'd so, beware of wild missed mistakes and/or typos.
> 
> Thanks.

**I  
Queen Sharon**

  


Brian, King of Crete at some untold time, benevolent ruler, respected and adored by his people, remained heirless after long years of marriage. Every night his beloved queen, Sharon, would weep for she was unable to bear him children.

More than once, much to the King’s distress, much to her own shame, Sharon had brought maidens to their chambers. Strong, beautiful maidens blessed by Hera’s priestess, surely more fertile to her husband’s seed than herself but every time his loving Brian would reject the young bodies, send the girls untouched back to their homes and ask his shaken wife to never hurt both their hearts in such a manner again. He wouldn’t hear her pleas and he wouldn’t lie with women other than his queen. 

So Sharon, in her despair, clothed her favorite servant in her own robes, made her wear her perfume and a veil and made her share her King’s bed every other night with orders not to speak under any circumstance and not to ever let him remove the veil.

And yet!

And yet, the servant was unable to conceive after a year of the affair. When Brian found his beloved berating the apologetic girl, he became wise to the queen’s deception. 

Sharon anguished, sure that his King would hate her, for how could he still love her when she couldn’t procure him a scion and when she had betrayed his trust so?

Brian forgave her and Sharon wept in relief and shame.

However, angered, Sharon cursed Hera for ignoring her prayers and sacrifices, for denying her and her beloved the joy of a child, a son, a heir, and on her next visit to the temple she ordered the priestesses and everyone out, she grabbed an outside rock, as heavy as she could lift with both hands, and unleashed her agony and fury onto the holy place. Inside she destroyed the altar, she crushed what could be crushed and when she had no strength left to haul the rock, she tore at everything else with fragile, bleeding hands, she kicked the statues and she spat on their faces and cursed and yelled.

Hera, insulted, raged. To punish the insolent mortal, she asked Aphrodite to send Eros and hit Sharon with one of his golden arrows so she’d lust after the filthiest of animals.

And so it was that the day the Queen of Crete was having a walk through the royal gardens, an escaped goat somehow found its way into the green expanse and a burning, wicked desire bloomed within her majesty. She thought of her King, her beloved, and tried to resist the heinous urge. 

The evening saw a wretched Sharon limp her way into the palace with dried tears on her face, hair and robes a mess ordering in a shrill desperate voice to kill the animal in the gardens. The servants looked all over the place but found nothing.

It was some time later that King Brian announced himself the most joyous of men when after weeks of feeling sick the Queen was confirmed to be pregnant.

“If a boy,” would say Brian with a besotted grin at night laying next to his wife, “we shall name him Charles. If a girl, we shall name her Cassandra.” Sharon would nod and silently weep for she feared the child not to be his, for she feared whatever was growing within her womb not to be a child at all.

“I shall get him or her the best of tutors, I shall teach him to fight myself. He or she will have the wisdom of Athena, the courage of Ares and the beauty of Aphrodite.”

His kisses burned her skin, his adoring words of love and merry were daggers that tore into her heart. She was so filthy.

The day the child was born, two midwives fainted and the royal physician as well as everyone present in the room was made to swear an oath to never tell the tale or face execution. The servant that cried “abomination” was taken out the room to be flogged and then never seen again.

Queen Sharon, loved wife of King Brian of Crete, had given birth to a boy with eyes blue and clear like the sky on a spring morning, snow-white creamy skin, rosy delightful cheeks, chubby gentle fingers…and hooves instead of feet.

Brian pressed the little bundle to his chest and looked at Sharon with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Charles it is,” he announced, voice slightly cracked, “I told you he would be beautiful.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to find name equivalents for the characters but it was rather difficult so I left their names unchanged even if they aren't ancient Greek names. I'm sorry for that. Alexandros was easy to find so he's the only one with a name change. 
> 
> Alexandros sounds badass.


	2. Chapter 2

**II  
The Goat Prince**

  


Many a year passed and Charles grew up nursed by a conflicted mother, for Sharon tried to love the child but his furry legs were a constant reminder of her disgrace, the betrayal to his beloved; and raised by a doting father, for Brian loved her Queen and the fruit she bore him, no matter its nature, and would not let his son, his only son, feel unloved or unworthy of happiness. 

The Prince was prohibited to leave the palace rooms, his existence a secret confined within its walls and behind its inhabitants' closely guarded mouths. He would look longingly through the windows, gaze upon the gardens and dream of the feel of the earth under his hands, his hooves, of leaves and the smell of the forest, of running and prancing and singing. 

The Queen never visited the gardens.

Charles was a charming child whose brilliant mind, wit and kind heart easily won him the loyalty and love of the people around him in spite of his appearance and rumored origins. His tutors praised him and despaired for they had a pupil they were vastly proud of and yet were unable to acknowledge outside his golden cage. The servants brought him fresh flowers from the lush royal grounds, they brought him stones and discarded bird feathers for him to play with and study, and while the masters and the erudite shared with the curious Prince stories from the city and foreign lands, they shared with him stories of the hard labor in the fields and their humble lives. Charles cherished every word.

The King would often spend the evenings playing _Latrones_ with his son, a game he had introduced to Charles at an early age, just a week shy of the little prodigy graduating from basic math to intermediate, five years after he had shyly, hesitantly, uttered his first word –“Maaaahhma”, and the Queen's distress had been so great that she had fallen ill and was bedridden for two whole days; Charles wouldn’t even try to talk again for a month thereafter. They would often play in the palace’s immense library, the Prince's favorite room.

Charles loved his father.

There were times in which the Queen would come to the child in the morrow's early hours, when the night was yet to surrender its veil of darkness to the new upcoming day. Believing him deep asleep --truth was that just her very scent was enough to snatch back Charles from Morpheus’ arms-- she would gaze at the boy's prone form until the caress of Apollo was too insistent for him to keep on feigning slumber. He would stir slowly in delicate twists of body and limbs careful not to frighten his mother, giving her time to leave his waking self. It was in the quiet moments of these visits, the lower half of the Prince covered in linens, his small chest rising and falling rhythmically, that Sharon could let herself forget his otherworldly nature, that she could drink in her son’s serene beauty and quell for a precious instant her fears of him turning into a monster the likes of the dreadful half-breeds of legends. In the darkness of the room, standing next to her child, she could lie to herself --to both-- a little and believe that she really loved him like any other mother would love her offspring. Some days she would even dare her fingers lightly, quickly, over his smooth skin, and rare was the occasion, but happened it had, that she would tuck rebellious strands of his soft brown hair back in place and whisper to him the lullabies she had dreamed in her newlywed days she would be lovingly singing for the children she would have borne her husband, perfect wholly human children.

Charles treasured mornings.

Weeks after a debilitating illness had befallen King Brian and forced him to keep rest at all time in his bedchambers, the Queen visited the library --a place she tended to avoid-- and asked Charles to sing to her.

The Prince found himself wide eyed and speechless for Mother never talked to him, not in the light of day, not when he could know it was her, not when he could reply and she would have to hear his voice quiver in shameful bleats every other word --that never failed to pale ghostly white her features, to bring moisture to her always sad eyes, to make her flee the room. He stared at her and clutched the parchments he had retrieved from one of the _armaria_ to his chest.

If he was allowed to talk to Mother, Charles would have rather asked for news on the King's health than to sing. He had been forbidden to come near Father for he was not entirely human and the physicians and priests feared his cursed half would only bring complications to His Majesty's condition. Charles had been terrified of the possibility and thus had exiled himself to the library, the room farthest away from the royal bedchambers. He had taken to sleep in a _kline_ the servants had brought him in.

Occupying the chair closest to her son, her body tense and a poorly veiled grimace on her face, the Queen asked him once more. Her voice was so faint that Charles thought then that had his ears not been so inhumanly keen, her words would have been lost into the air.

"Brian told me you had a beautiful singing voice, he said I should hear you sing sometime so, Charles, sing to me." 

Charles sang. He intoned each word carefully, studiously watching over his vowels so a single bleat wouldn’t escape him and when he finished, the Queen smiled sadly at him, her eyes red rimmed and tears streaming down her pale cheeks. 

“The King passed away an hour ago,” she said and left the room. 

Father had promised Charles he would order the physicians to let them spend a whole Father and Son day with him on his eleventh birthday. One more day and he would have been able to keep the promise. 

Charles wasn't allowed to approach the deceased King before the _prothesis_ , for the priests believed his presence would be detrimental to his passing _phsyche_. He was then locked away in the library during the actual _prothesis_ for he was a secret to be kept from the guests who would come to pay their respects.

He prayed by his own in the silence of his paper-clustered domain for his father's safe journey to the Elysian Fields. He asked the Gods for strength for his mother, for strength for himself so the tears would stop pouring from his burning eyes, so he wouldn't hate the priests that forbade him a last goodbye, so the fury he felt at the unfairness of the world wouldn't consume him. He knew better than to ask them to take away his sorrow, it was too great for any manner of force to erase it.

It was the library's door opening suddenly of its own volition what eventually interrupted his wallowing. At first, nothing had seemed to come through; Charles had been hiding behind an _armaria_ and at the telling creaking of the wood, he had craned his neck up to spy at the entrance.

"Are you a goat or are you a boy? You have to decide, you can't be both," a tiny voice asked to Charles' left. He turned his head to the voice so fast he could have hurt his neck and there was a little child, probably half his age, looking at him, transfixed. His hair was short, bright with the color of the sun and he didn't look the least afraid.

"You shouldn't be here," breathed Charles, his heart beat very fast as dread pooled in his stomach.

"There's no one to play with out there."

"H-how did you open the door?" Mother would be so upset that one of the guests had found him. She would be so distressed that she would fall ill like Father and then she would leave him too.

"I know how to open doors, even the ones that don't want to be opened. A servant taught me how. So who are you?"

And for Charles that was an easy question. He had always known the answer. "Nobody. I am nobody."

The child extended his hand with a pleased grin. "Nice to meet you Nobody! I'm Alexandros!" 

Charles hesitated before taking the small hand in a short-lived shake. "Honored to meet you, Alexandros."

Alexandros was fascinated by him, he petted his fur, he poked his ears and when these twitched instinctively the child laughed with such merry that the Prince found himself with a small hesitant smile of his own. 

"They will be looking for you," said Charles.

Alexandros sighed forlornly and nodded.

"Could you do something for me?"

"Sure."

"Can you tell the sleeping King, the one everyone came to see, can you tell him that his son loves him dearly," his voice cracked a fraction but fortunately Alexandros didn't notice, "That he is sorry he can't bid him farewell properly and that he will look after the Queen?"

When Alexandros left the room with a solemn face and a promise to deliver the message, he could hear him meet with someone outside the room --Charles had closed the door shut behind him-- and say he'd been talking to Nobody.

Charles had to stay home for the _ekphora_.

Sharon asked Charles to sing again the day she announced she was marrying the late King’s most trusted general a year later.

King Kurt turned the library into the Prince's permanent prison and his own son Cain, who was a few years older than Charles, turned it into a nightmare.

Charles sung for the last time six months later at his mother’s deathbed. She had lost her sight in the advanced stages of the same unknown illness that had taken King Brian's life, and her frail hands skimmed over Charles' face, mapping his every feature, tugging at his small horns above his head before her lips turned up into a sad smile of recognition. 

The Queen had begged her husband, the physicians and the priests to let her son in the chambers. She knew she was dying and it was her last wish to hear him sing.

Finished with her exploration, the Queen's fingers locked in Charles' now too long hair and drew him down to kiss his forehead.

“You could have been a monster,” she told him weakly, “but your heart is a kind one and your mind clear and sharp. Promise me you'll remain gentle, Charles.”

"I promise," he vowed, and when the Queen asked him to sing he sang with his whole heart. He sang as he wept but his voice didn't crack once and not a single bleat escaped him. He sang as Mother's labored breath began to slow, he sang even as she whispered, "I wish I could have loved you," and he sang long after her body went still, her face lax... peaceful.

Ten days after the funeral services, King Kurt ordered the Kingdom’s architects to construct a giant labyrinth.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Latrones Ludus latrunculorum, latrunculi** or **latrones** was a board game of military tactics of the ancient Greeks and Romans, supposedly it resembled Chess or Draughts.
> 
>  **Armaria** Containers for books in the ancient greek and roman libraries.
> 
>  **Kline** A sofa that also doubled as a bed.
> 
>  **Psyche** The human soul or spirit.
> 
>  **Prothesis** The funeral ritual in which the body of the deceased was laid at home for friends and family to pay their respects and say their goodbyes. It was also a chance to splay the hosts riches and wealth.
> 
>  **Ekphora** The funeral procession.


	3. Chapter 3

**III  
King Jakob**

  


Jakob, King of Athens at some untold time, wise ruler, survivor of many a fierce battle and beloved hero of his people, was cursed. He didn't know what terrible sin he had committed, what of him or his life could have so deeply grieved the Gods that they had seen fit to punish him in such a cruel way. Every woman King Jakob married would be afflicted by a strong unknown illness as soon as she proved fruitful and the Queen and the unborn child within would be lost to Hades after days of agony and despair. 

No sacrifice was good enough to appease the Gods, no conquest in their name was big enough to get back into their good graces. After the funeral of the sixth Queen, King Jakob was too weak with pain to feel furious at them even though he wanted to lash out and demand a reason, demand an opportunity to set right whatever lay broken between him and those living in Olympus. He would travel any distance, he would slay any monster, he would sacrifice anything they asked him to.

"Perhaps, my dear King, a change of scenery would do you good," Sebastian, King's Jakob cousin, said to him the morning after the _ekphora_. 

Prince Sebastian was a smart young man, they had fought together against many enemies and his strategies had always brought them flawless victory. He was also an accomplished physician and Jakob always held his advise in high regards. Even when on occasions his smiles would make a chill run down his spine. 

So King Jakob left Athens in his cousin's hands to travel, he wouldn't tell a soul where to, he wouldn't tell for how long either but he would be back, that much he promised, he wouldn't abandon his loyal people, he only needed time to heal.

Maximilian, King of the small but prosperous Troezen, old brother in arms and most trusted friend of Jakob, received him with open arms.

Jakob found the peace he needed in his friend's tranquil lands, the days were filled with merry reminiscing of olden times, playing _Latrones_ or discussing politics and philosophy. Maximilian's daughter, Princess Edie, was also a very welcome company in their daily routine. She was a beautiful maiden of quick thinking yet sensible judgment, she would always know what to say and when to say it too, and was also amazingly skillful with a blade. This was what had surprised Jakob the most, pleasantly so. She would _demand_ to be let in their sparring sessions and sometimes Maximilian would relent, if somewhat chagrined.

Jakob fell in love with Edie.

He was afraid.

He knew he had made a terrible mistake then, when she asked to have a word with him one fateful summer day by the beach, and he had lent her his ear. He had let her convince him to marry her for _"You love me and I love you and I will let no curse stand between us. I'm not afraid."_

They married with Maximilian's heartfelt blessings and lived in joy until the day Edie announced she was with child. Jakob wept from dark to dawn. 

Maybe if Jakob left he could spare his wife the wrath of the Gods. He had carefully kept their marriage a secret and if he wasn't around his curse might even skip her; surely his happiness was a fair trade for her and the child's lives. He vowed to never love another woman again; he vowed to forget about Edie and their child if they were spared. He vowed to live in misery and solitude until the day his child would come to claim Athens' throne, if male, or if female, the day she sought out his blessings for marriage.

Jakob returned to Athens, sworn to loneliness and sorrow, but left behind his sword and his sandals.

"Edie, my love, you should give these to our child the day he or she is of age and decides to come looking for me. The sandals must be worn; the sword must be skillfully swung before me, only then will I know the Gods heard my pleas, accepted my sacrifice and showed us mercy."

  



	4. Chapter 4

**IV  
Princess Edie**

  


Two nights after Jakob's departure, Edie took a stroll on the beach where she had made him confess his love. Her chest ached, her sight blurred and tears fell down her face. She clutched her husband's sword against her breast and wished him back at her side. That's when she saw _him_.

At first, she thought him a vision, a play on her sanity by the night and its shadows but the stranger grew clearer and more solid the further he _limped_ his way out of the sea and onto the sand. He looked tired and Edie ran to his aid when a wave hit him hard on the back causing him to falter in his steps. When he couldn't walk anymore, she offered her shoulder for support but he was too heavy so she offered him the sword to use as a cane.

"How daring of you," he said once they were sitting at a safe distance from the water, "to trust a stranger so readily and even lend him a weapon such as this," he admired the sword still in his possession, "it's finely done, a master work," and in lower murmur he added, "for a mortal."

The man was tall but his lame leg forced him to walk hunched so he appeared deformed at first glance. His body was, however, well proportioned, wiry and finely muscled once properly looked at. His eyes were the color of the sea and he carried a heavy sack on his back, whatever he had in it, clinked metallic when jostled.

"I've always had and excellent character judgment. And were you to try anything, rest assured, I'm not without my defenses," replied Edie cheekily.

The man let out a roaring laugh.

"Woman, your man is a lucky one,"

Edie's only reply was a sad smile.

"What is the matter? Why the sudden gloom?"

"My husband thinks the Gods cursed him and he left me and his child in me," she let her hands fall softly over her stomach, "hoping our lives would be spared."

"No one is to know of our marriage, no one is to know the name of my son or daughter's sire. My father and I have yet to come with a way to explain my pregnancy that won't give any of it away."

"Woman," the stranger said moved, "I will personally see that you and your child receive Hera's blessing. I promise you no misfortune will come your way, not during your pregnancy, not the day of birth," he fished a dagger from his leather sack. It shone eerily under the moonlight, its handle was pure silver and rubies and tiny diamonds were incrusted along its sides; the spine was made of gold.

"This dagger calls to metal and metal calls to it. Whoever wields it, metal shall do their bidding. It will also never miss, as long as the wielder's target is in sight, it will hit bullseye. Give it to your child and he or she will be undefeatable," he handed Edie the magic dagger and she thanked him with bright damp eyes.

"As for the father, tell whoever asks that one night you found Hephaestus coming out of the sea after having delivered Poseidon's new trident, that he forced his deformed self on you and thus sired your child." 

"No!" replied Edie indignant and then, sweetly, corrected him, "I will say that I found Hephaestus' kind heart so beautiful that I was instantly charmed and couldn't help but to lay with him, his hands warm and his body gentle on me."

Hephaestus smiled self-consciously --a touching sight that-- and kissed the back of her hand.

"Well then," he said, "I must go now. It was an honor meeting you,"

"Edie,"

"An honor, Edie. Live well, smile more, cry less."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, grateful, and bid Hephaestus farewell.  


  



	5. Chapter 5

**V  
Hephaestus' Son**

  


Erik was a strong youth. Erik, Prince of Troezen, had been raised a warrior from the day he had been able to steadily hold anything in his tiny hands. His grandfather, King Maximilian, would teach him about tactics, would frequently spar with him and by night would challenge him to a game or two of _Latrones_. His mother, Princess Edie, would teach him the proper care of weapons, would also spar with him when his grandfather couldn't and by night would narrate to him tales of courage and honor --some too fantastic to be true in Erik's opinion--, mostly anecdotes from the King himself and stories of the Gods. 

Erik had a magic dagger, a gift from his father.

Erik's father was a God.

"Here," Erik kneeled on one leg next to the river and placed the tip of his dagger inside the clear water, pebbles the color of the sun hurried to meet the blade from the bottom of the stream. He raised the dagger and collected the small shiny stones in one hand.

"Marvelous," exclaimed Edie, "So what do you think?"

"There isn't much here, _Mama_ , just the little scraps. I don't think we'll find much more than this."

"And your grandfather had been so jubilant thinking we had found a proper source this time," she shook her head and sighed.

"It's not like we truly are in need. _Papous_ is just being greedy." From time to time the brave Princess and her son would travel the Kingdom in search of mining points. So far they had found mostly Iron ore fields.

"You tell him that. Let's go home, _moro_ ," replied Edie as she mounted her horse. 

Erik blushed. "Don't call me that. I'm not a child anymore."

"As you wish," Edie took hold of the horse reins in a strong grip, " _Moro_!" and kicked. "Race you home!" she called with a laugh, her voice fading as she rode away.

Erik did not fall for the taunt, long accustomed to his mother's antics, and took his time to get back to the palace, just to be contrary. When he arrived, however, his dagger sung to him: There was strange metal in the building. 

It was very quiet.

He ran to the inner chambers, the dagger a trustworthy guide, and in the way he found the guards and servants all asleep, if not slain. In the throne room he found his grandfather struggling to rise from the floor, his sword bloodied and the man himself bleeding still. There were four dead men wearing foreign clothes on the floor.

"They did something to our food," wheezed the King, Erik helped him sit, the wounds were deep and in dire need of treatment.

"Where's _Mama_?"

"Oh, my boy, you must hurry! I took down as many as I could but others followed her. She had something to protect in her chambers. Please, Erik, please..." the old man coughed violently, spluttering red, and sat against the wall unable to do more.

So Erik ran to his mother's chambers as fast as his legs would allow him and then some. In the way, he found one of the court physicians slumbering and slapped him awake with orders to tend to the King and wake anyone else who could be of help.

Princess Edie's bedchamber was crimson everywhere.

There was a man with a knife wedged deeply in his neck gargling his last breath and another one already dead by the bed, a blade of the strange metal Erik's dagger had sensed having gone through him.

In the farthest corner of the room the last of the intruders grappled with a heavily wounded Edie.

"Give it up, woman!" he snarled as the Princess kicked weakly at him from the floor, fending off his forceful attempts at prying free the long wooden box she hugged tight against her chest.

Erik threw his dagger. 

It hit the back of the man's head and he sagged down, a lifeless heap.

"Erik," the Princess gasped once she was securely held in the arms of her son, "Erik..."

"Shush, don't waste your strength, _Mama_ , I'll take you to Koragos and he'll--"

"It's too much late for that, _moro_ ," she replied, he voice fainter and fainter with each word. She asked Erik to open the box, her arms falling limply to her sides, and inside he found a sword, both hilt and blade exquisitely engraved, and a pair of sandals. "They are your Father's."

"Hephaestus?" it was the name of the only father Erik had ever known.

"King Jakob of Athens," Princess Edie tried to lift a hand to her son's face but her body would not respond and her voice was failing her, a rough withering whisper barely heard in between pained gasps, "He is your real father, Erik, Athens is your birthright."

"On your twentieth birthday I would have given this box to you along its secret, you would have walked into Athens wearing your father's sandals and would have masterfully swung his sword before his eyes. He's all alone, ah, because of us, he's all alone, only waiting for you... as is Athens' throne."

Erik shouted her name and sobbed his pain when she wouldn't say more for her blood kept flowing out through her wounds but her heart had stopped its beating, for he had been to late and couldn't save her.

Erik had a sword and a pair of sandals, a promise from his father.

Erik's father was human.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pappous** is grandfather.  
>  **Moro** is baby.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI  
Jakob's Son**

  


"She didn't lie about Hephaestus. He might have not sired you, my boy, but that dagger of yours is a father's gift to a son, he will always look after you," said King Maximilian to his grandson a few days after the Princess' passing; the youth was at the beach by himself, admiring the sunset in silence.

"He let her die," Erik was as calm as the sea, only the Gods would know of the storm brewing inside him.

"Fate is unavoidable," the King retorted. "Perhaps it was meant to be, perhaps not. Not even the Gods are infallible but of something I'm certain: He'll see that his brother Hades takes the best of care of her soul, that she spends eternity in joy and peace."

The Prince didn't answer; both men saw Apollo's light slowly fade away in reds and oranges to give room to his sisters' silvery veil before speaking anew.

"What do you see in your future now, son?"

"I will master the sword, _Papous_ , and then on my twentieth birthday I will walk into Athens in my father's sandals, I will swing his sword before him with uncanny skill and claim my birthright," there was no doubt in Erik's voice, only fiery determination. The look in his eyes, however, the King knew that look, he had seen it before in many troubled others: it was the look of a man set for revenge.

"Don't allow rancor to poison your soul, Erik," he advised before leaving. Erik didn't respond, didn't even look at him. 

The sea was quiet.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII  
Athens**

  


Erik knew the attack to the palace hadn't just been a common thievery gone awry, neither had it been a random mercenary strike nor an attempt by discontent rebels to overthrow the ruling royal family; it had been too well crafted, intended to be a clean and quick assault by a calculated small number of men of the finest military training --according to King Maximilian's observations-- with a clear single objective: King Jakob's box, the one and only irrefutable proof of Erik's birthright. He had recognized in one of the intruder's corpses the face of a kitchen servant that had begun working for them a little while before the attack. A spy, a traitor, human scum.

Someone had ordered the strike. 

Erik would find the mastermind and exact payment in blood. Double for _Papous_ , triple for _Mama_.

He had suspicions for which he thought would find confirmation in Athens an he hadn't been mistaken for once Erik set foot in the city of promise, his dagger told him of the strange metal of years ago. The metal alloy the Troezen blacksmiths couldn't reproduce no matter how much help they had from their Prince and his magic dagger. Light as a feather, sturdier than iron, Erik knew the metals but they just wouldn't come together under the smiths' hammer, they wouldn't even succumb to the smith's fire. Indomitable, unforgiving, capricious metal that would listen to Erik's dagger but would not bend to his will completely.

It was all over Athens.

Erik followed the trail to the closest source of the strange metal and found himself in a blacksmith's shop, a man with grayed long hair, wrinkled face and scarred hands was hammering what appeared to be a plow into shape.

"Hark stranger!" greeted the man, stopping his work to focus on Erik, "how can I help you?"

Without replying, Erik followed his dagger to a sword on the far-off wall. It didn't quite look like the ones the assassins had carried with them that fateful day long time ago, this sword had exquisite engravings on the hilt and a seal on the left face of the blade but the metal alloy in it was exactly the same.

"This sword," he said at last, "do you make these swords?"

The old blacksmith laughed with hearty mirth, "No friend, I don't and I couldn't even if I wanted. No one can, save good ol' Hephaestus perhaps," he admitted as he walked next to Erik to admire the piece himself.

"Well, and Athens' royal blacksmith too, but he crafts only for the King and his men."

"You have this sword."

The man straightened his back, raised his chin and puffed his chest proudly, "I used to serve the King personally. I fought many battles at his side as a general and many more as his _somatophylax_." Unable to keep the posture anymore, the man let out his breath and his old body slumped.

"I'm retired now, though. This sword is what's left of my days of glory." He caressed the blade with big crooked fingers and his gaze turned glazy, "Oh my King, oh my poor King," he sighed.

The people of Athens, Erik had noticed, loved dearly their King but there was a sadness in their eyes whenever they spoke of him. "What happened to him?" he asked.

"Nothing a stranger should worry about. All you should know, friend, is that he's strong and always will be, for the good of Athens, and that Athens will always be strong for him in return."

Erik stayed with the blacksmith, Thestor, for the day and was offered a room in his house at night for sleep. He helped him around in the workshop, interested in the trade himself, and both became good acquaintances. 

"I've been granted audience with the King today," he announced a week later. He'd been staying with the smith and his wife, Aglea, an old plump woman with a warm big heart. They had insisted he stayed until he could meet with the King.

"Good to hear, Erik, good to hear. May you find your destiny then. Go with mine and the wife's good wishes," Thestor patted him on the back and Aglea hugged him.

"Take care of yourself, Erik. May the Gods be with you."

Erik went to the palace. 

Erik met Prince Sebastian.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII  
Prince Sebastian**

  


"King Jakob hasn't personally held an audience in a long, long time, I'm afraid. I listen to his people on his behalf and then I rely back his word," answered Prince Sebastian when Erik, suspicious, asked if he was King Jakob. 

"I am his cousin, Prince Sebastian. Surely you must know of me."

"Gifted strategist, hero of Athens at King Jakob's side, trusted advisor, royal physician and master smith," recited one of the guards while Prince Sebastian smiled and preened.

"Master smith?" asked Erik confused, for the Sebastian's hands weren't rough in the way a smith's were, nor where his arms sturdy in the way they should for a practitioner of the trade.

"Well, well, I'll admit even _I_ find the title a bit too much for I am no true smith and neither do I tame the metals myself. But I came up with the secret technique that makes Athenian weapons unique. So there's that," conceded Prince Sebastian magnanimously, "It's the reason I was given the title, yes."

"I see, your Majesty, and I mean no disrespect but I must speak to King Jakob directly, however, and only to him."

Angered, Prince Sebastian walked closer to Erik, who was kneeling on a leg before the throne and therefore before the Prince himself as was the custom.

"You shall speak to me or to no one," retorted Sebastian and then took a good look at Erik. He saw the worn sandals and then noticed the sword secured in his baldric.

"I know who you are," he said then, his voice low, wondering and amused all the same.

"As do I," replied Erik even lower so Prince Sebastian didn't hear.

With a smile too wide to be sincere and eyes too sharp to be kind, Sebastian made him rise to his feet and welcomed him in a hug.

"Jakob will be so happy! What's your name, son?"

"Erik,"

"Oh Erik, Prince Erik, what a joyous day! I'll make sure you meet him tomorrow for he's awfully busy today, but tonight you should stay in the palace, dine with me, let me know you better."

Erik learned that King Jakob had stopped living in the main royal building years ago choosing to seclude himself in a windowless square room across the gardens that he had ordered the royal architect to build. Sebastian visited him once a day with reports of the Kingdom and servants delivered his food.

Erik dined with the Prince and his consort, Princess Emma. She was a beautiful but unnerving woman and every time she looked at him, Erik felt ice run down his back.

"Oh, dear, I wouldn't drink that if I were you," she whispered to Erik when he raised the goblet of wine served to him to his lips. 

Prince Sebastian had been talking to one of his _somatophylax_ , another guest of the Prince, but raised an eyebrow to his wife when she let Erik drink from her goblet instead of his own.

Sebastian had wanted to know everything about Erik.

Erik had told him nothing.

At night, when he was retiring to bed, Princess Emma intercepted him on the way to the chambers Prince Sebastian had showed him to before dinner.

"I wouldn't sleep there if I were you, sweetheart," she said, "I'll take you to better bedchambers, follow me, won't you?" and Erik did.

Erik hadn't been able to sleep at night and after some time of him laying on the beddings, trying to come to terms with all the he knew about his father and Sebastian, sorting out his suspicions and feelings, his dagger sung to him. 

The strange metal was in the room that would have been his if not for Princess Emma. 

He counted one sword and two daggers, they moved around for a while and then left the empty room and then the palace. 

The next morning Erik found the Princess in the garden, deep in thought.

"You have saved me twice," he said.

"Have I?" she wouldn't look at him, her delicate hand rose to touch a pomegranate hanging heavily of a low branch of the tree under which she laid sitting.

"You have. Why?"

"I am an Oracle, I know the future. People sought me out once for wisdom and advice. I miss my Temple," her fingers closed around the reddened fruit and with a twist of her wrist, plucked it down.

"Are you here against your will?"

"I love Sebastian, darling, and I miss my Temple," was all she said and spoke no more. 

Erik asked about his future but she remained silent and when she finally looked at him, her eyes were cold and hard.

Erik missed his mother.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **somatophylax** were royal bodyguards, usually high ranking military officers.


	9. Chapter 9

**IX  
Reunion**

  


At afternoon, Prince Sebastian took Erik to meet King Jakob. The square room was pitch black save for the center where a desk buried in papers lay, a candle on its left corner the only source of light. There was an old man sitting behind the wooden piece, scribbling frantically on a parchment.

"Ah, Sebastian," he said without looking up, his voice was scratchy, rough with disuse, "How are things going? Have the issue with Crete been solved yet? Did you do as I asked?"

"Unfortunately, my King, King Kurt has yet to see reason and my words fall on deaf ears. We should be preparing the shipment soon."

"Ohh, Sebastian, that won't do. That won't do at all. Why won't he take our gold? Why won't he take our harvest? I feel for my people, you know. I feel for them all so deeply."

"As do I, as do I," here Prince Sebastian cleared his throat signaling for a change of topic and calling for the King's full attention.

Erik couldn't move and his voice wouldn't come out.

When King Jakob's hand stopped moving and his head rose to meet his visitors his old tired eyes fell instantly on Erik and they widened in surprise... and hope.

"Who is that young man, Sebastian? What is he doing here?" his words trembled, his whole body shook and in an instant he was on his feet walking closer to the Prince and Erik.

Erik's heart beat faster and faster with every weak step the King took.

"Jakob, oh Jakob, take a good look at him and you tell me!" said Sebastian with a grin.

King Jakob stood before Erik, his hands in the air, expectant but unmoving. He looked down at the Troezen Prince's sandals and his breath hitched, eyes shinning.

"Show him the sword," said Prince Sebastian to Erik and he did. 

King Jakob let out a cracked sob and tears streaked down his cheeks. He hugged Erik tightly and wept and wept.

"My son, you are my son!" Jakob wailed, "Oh my son, my son, you are here, you are my son. What's your name? what's my son's name? Please," 

"Erik," the young Prince croaked. He was overcome with emotion, he was meeting his father for the first time, his human father who cradled his face in both hands to get a better look at him, "You have her eyes, her beautiful eyes!" who hugged him a second time and didn't seem to want to let go ever again. 

When father and son finally gathered his bearings, the King spoke.

"Edie, my beloved Edie, is she with you? Is your mother with you? I remember her so strong, so bright with energy and love," the King's smile was small and wistful.

Erik tried to answer but his voice wouldn't get past the lump in his throat. He shook his head, a heavy slow motion, and lowered his gaze to the floor, sad and hurting.

King Jakob wept anew and wouldn't stop in a long time.


	10. Chapter 10

**X  
Worth**

  


The next day, to the whole household's surprise, King Jakob ate breakfast in the palace with Prince Sebastian, Princess Emma and his son, Prince Erik. The servants were excited and unabashedly cheerful to see the King after years of self-imposed isolation.

They all looked at Erik with great admiration and gratefulness. Prince Erik, the star that had brought them back their King and their King's merry. For Jakob was happy, Edie's death was a heavy weight in his heart and it showed, but also Erik's presence had filled him with hope and joy.

"Today I shall officially proclaim you my one and only heir to the throne, to my people," the King said to Erik and to Sebastian he asked "Prepare everything for a public speech, send the heralds to give the news."

Prince Sebastian, however, drank slowly from his goblet and once finished set it down carefully, then addressed his cousin, "Pardon my rudeness, my King, but you know I have Athens' best interests at heart when I say the Prince hasn't proved himself worthy yet. Is he brave? Is he strong? Is he smart? Is he capable of great feats in times of need?"

The King reflected Prince Sebastian's words and then asked to Emma her opinion on the matter.

"Well, my King," she replied, "the young Prince's most known heroics so far have been to bring you out of that dreadful room at the garden's back and getting you to eat a descent meal for once."

The King laughed with mirth and even the servants fought their own chuckles. 

Prince Sebastian grinned at his wife. "Delightful as always, sweetheart, and rude too. What would I ever do without you?"

Princess Emma's only response was a disdainful sniff before asking a servant to refill her goblet.

"Emma is right, however. Erik, my son, I would face you in combat to measure your worth, alas, my old body is not up to the task anymore," the King lamented.

"I will fight him on your behalf," offered Sebastian, "Should he win, the throne is his, should he fail..."

"He would have to find other ways to prove himself worthy then," finished the King with a nod.

"I'll prove my worth, father," promised Erik and the toothy smile he offered to Sebastian was everything but friendly.

By midday Erik was preparing for battle.

The demonstration was to be under Apollo's appraising watch in the palace's central courtyard and as he readied himself with armor, helmet, sword and dagger, Princess Emma approached him.

"He won't harm you fatally before the King's eyes, but you will not be victorious," she warned.

"Is that what you've seen in my future?" asked Erik without much interest, bitter even, while refastening his armor.

"It is his past," said Emma, "During one of his crusades by King Jakob's side, Sebastian found out the God Ares was fighting in the enemy lines and unmasked him. Ares was so amused by this daring act that he bestowed upon him his own armor and sword. Even since then, Sebastian has had Ares' favor and has never lost a fight."

But Prince Sebastian wasn't the only one to have a God on his side, thought Erik, for he had Hephaestus' dagger and blessings too.

"I will win," said Erik and Princess Emma shook her head and left.

A hour later, Erik was losing the fight.

No matter how hard Erik struck Sebastian with his sword, the man maintained his footing, barely registering the hit. His armor ate the momentum and strength of every one of Erik's attacks. The Prince's helmet, oddly shaped for combat, was incredibly sturdy too.

And then there was the sword. It had yet to connect with Erik's body and he was already hurting from the phantom hit. The sword cut without breaking skin, it stung through armor and padding without even touching the actual materials.

The metal in both Prince Sebastian's armor and sword refused to listen to Erik's dagger.

Erik hadn't wanted to show his winning card too soon, after all, very few people knew of Hephaestus gift to the Troezen Prince, so the dagger hadn't been actively brought into the fight. Still, the small blade was as much part of Erik as Erik was part of it and even when the enchanted weapon was securely hidden in his baldric he could ask it to talk to the metal in the area and when Sebastian's metal wouldn't listen, it at least warned him of its every movement, sparing Erik several damaging blows.

Erik was losing the fight, despite his daggers' help.

After a particularly vicious thrust of Prince Sebastian's sword to Erik's middle, the battle was over. Erik fell to his knees, hands clutching his stomach, fingers sliding over the cool metal of the surprisingly still intact armor plates, and strangled a sob. His innards were on fire.

"Erik!" Jakob ran to his son's side and cradled him with care. "What's wrong? My son, speak to me!" 

"He must be hurting from the strenuous fight, my King. He is strong but young and inexperienced. Sudden movements in battle can strain the body in painful ways for those untrained. Or perhaps, he might have had too much to eat before the encounter." Sebastian's smile was smug and cruel and Erik hated him more that ever. He wasn't untrained, his grandfather had trained him, his mother had trained him, every day, dawn to dusk, under the rain, in the cold of winter and the heat of summer, for this day.

"Will you tend to him, Sebastian?" asked --pleaded-- the King.

"Of course I will, to the best of my skills," promised the Prince. He helped Erik to his feet, the frail King unable to hold his son's weight even though he wanted to, and walked him to the bedchamber he had shown him to two nights previous. Jakob followed them close behind.

Erik reluctantly divested himself of armor and clothing and lay on the bed per his father's and Prince Sebastian's request. While Sebastian assessed Erik's injuries, Princess Emma walked in carrying a tray with an array of herbs, bandages and strange tools --some metallic, some not-- that she promptly handed to her husband.

"Don't worry, my son, Sebastian is the best physician in Athens, thanks to him we are the healthiest city known to man."

Erik wanted to trust his father.

Erik would never trust Sebastian.  


  



	11. Chapter 11

**XI  
Athens' Pain**

  


"You lost," said Princess Emma to Erik that night, while he rested and recuperated in bed. She sat on a chair close by; she had brought with herself an apple and a knife.

"What did-- what did he do to me? I can't feel my body!" rasped Erik alarmed when he tried to move and sensed only a void where he should have felt his legs and arms, toes and fingers, chest and back. Because he had rarely experienced it before, it took him a while to understand that he, for the first time in many years, felt... vulnerable.

"You will be well. He administered you a concoction that helps the body mend itself. Tomorrow you will be back to normal and the harm done to you will be half gone. A miracle potion of his, if you will, with some unsavory side effects. It will still take some more rest and time to heal properly." Emma explained dispassionately, bored even. 

"How long?" Her words hadn't been any comfort.

"That depends of the person. Don't fret, my Prince, I will keep watch over you tonight."

Erik huffed, an indig nant sound, despite his condition he was not afraid. Not of Sebastian nor of unwelcome assailants in the dark of the night.

"You don't have to," he said.

"I don't, but I will."

Both remained silent for some time. The Princess peeled her apple without hurry and ate it in small bites that she carefully cut with the knife. When sleep began to weigh in on Erik --who had been battling its pull, trying to remain awake--, her voice called his attention once more.

"Tomorrow Sebastian will try to convince you of embarking on a foolish venture to prove your worth. You will die if you accept it."

"I won't accept then."

"You won't have a choice."

"He can't force me to do what I don't want to do."

"He won't."

Erik fell grudgingly asleep and dreamt of his mother and red flowers, of his father and withering trees; of a beach and eyes the color of the sea watching him, a hearth and fire burning.

The next day, breakfast was brought to Erik's chambers.

Emma had been long gone when her husband walked into the room, five servants trailing behind.

"How are you feeling today?" asked Prince Sebastian with fake cheer.

"Better," grunted Erik, angry over what the Prince had done to him. He would not be at the mercy of him, --nor anyone, man or god-- ever again. Erik would not be made a fool of, would never be vulnerable again. Erik would grow strong like no other and forever prevail.

"Good," Sebastian replied as he paced about. "Jakob wants all of our meals to be shared as a family so we will be having breakfast together here for you are not fit to leave rest just yet," Erik scowled at this and the Prince made a disapproving sound, "You are not leaving this bed until I say so. I'm the physician here after all, I know best."

And Erik tried to prove him wrong but the simple act of sitting up drained all of his energy, his arms a trembling mess after the effort. He glared at the smug smile on Sebastian's face.

"Please, don't overdo yourself," chided the Prince as he sat on a nearby _klismos_ "Jakob will arrive shortly. Let's wait." No more words were further exchanged. 

By the time King Jakob arrived, the servants had placed a table next to Erik's bed and set it. There were only three plates and three goblets, however.

"Isn't your delightful wife, Emma, joining us, Sebastian?" asked the King.

"She's indisposed this morning, cousin mine."

"A shame," lamented Jakob. He clapped his hands then and smiled at Erik. "Let's eat then."

The food smelled delicious as sweet did the wine but Erik wasn't allowed to taste either. Prince Sebastian had made him drink a foul, green-colored drink and eat insipid mush instead. _All for his own good._

"The shipment to Crete will be ready in three days," announced Sebastian after sipping the last of wine from his goblet and King Jakob's bright mood darkened at his words.

"I would not like to discuss this right now, Sebastian," he warned.

"I insist, my King, this is of utmost importance for we are gathering the cargo today. Have you decided on your donation yet? All of the drafted families have already sent confirmation and names." 

King Jakob's face crumpled. He looked so miserable that Erik could not hold his curiosity any more. The topic of Crete would always sour his human father's mood.

"What are you sending to Crete and why does it trouble you so, father?"

Prince Sebastian's eyes twinkled, the corner of his mouth rose in a small smirk but the King was too distressed to see this as he begged his son to forget about Crete and to simply think about getting back to health.

"Jakob, please," admonished Sebastian, "He, as your son, has a right to know. How could he hope to inherit Athens ignoring the city's woes? The torments of its people, of _his_ people?"

"Sebastian, no," begged the King.

"Father, I want to know."

The King cracked. With reluctance and sadness, he began the tale that would seal Erik's fate.

"The Kingdom of Crete and Athens used to be allies during the good old days of King Brian. Athens mourned with Crete their beloved King's tragic passing. King Kurt rose to the throne, yet still, our bonds remained."

"Until Prince Cain's death."

Sebastian's face contorted in disgust as he continued the story for the King who was too rattled to go on.

"King Kurt's only son, Prince Cain, fell in battle. Athens had engaged in war against one of our bordering countries. In an act of good faith, although I'd wager the intent was more for his son to gain some glory of his own, the King sent the Prince and part of his army to aid us."

"Alas, Prince Cain was fatally injured in the fight and not even I with the best of my skills could save him. King Kurt blames us, Athenians, for his death; he's deluded himself, you see, in thinking that we didn't provide the Prince with proper support in the field and swears we purposely let him die. The truth is, Prince Cain wasn't a very bright warrior to begin with and was too stubborn for his own good. His doom was his and only his to meet."

Jakob, calmer now, raised his hand to let his cousin know he would finish the tale. He looked at Erik with sad, tired eyes and spoke once again.

"Blind in his grief and rage, King Kurt has been demanding tribute from Athens for five years already. We can't refuse him for Crete is too strong a Kingdom for us to war against. They have made allies with other powerful territories and Athens would not stand a chance, should it come to battle. They have razed defiant lands to the ground and we have only been spared thanks to this yearly tribute we are forced to pay. Brave Sebastian's attempts to negotiate with the King have been met with obstinacy and failure."

Sebastian clapped Erik on a shoulder and his eyes, dangerously fiery, bore into his.

"We must send seven maidens and seven youths every year to feed the Monster King Kurt keeps captive in a labyrinth. A terrible man-eating beast."

And Erik remembered. He remembered overhearing the palace servants gossiping about a monster in a far away Kingdom that would rip the flesh of men and crunch on their bones, the older ones would even threaten their young with sending them to the cursed creature if they misbehaved. He had been but a child at the time and had been so scared that he had hidden under his bed until _Mama_ had come to find him.

The monster was real.

Every year seven innocent Athenian boys and seven innocent Athenian girls were sent to the monster of his childhood nightmares to be eaten alive. 

The monster was real. 

"Thirteen families are chosen at random to donate a daughter, son or if they can afford it, which those who can always do, a slave. The King in a token of solidarity donates one of the palace slaves every year as well," explained Prince Sebastian. Jakob's shoulders slumped as the words brought unpleasant memories and guilt.

"I must retire," said the King and, their meal finished, asked the servants to clear the table, "I will see you later my son, for now, there are pressing matters that call for my attention. Rest and heal," he motioned for Sebastian to follow him.

The Prince accompanied King Jakob to the room's exit and before leaving himself, looked at Erik, his voice low and his gaze intent.

"I would think, liberating Athens of this monster's curse would be highly heroic and, dare I say, _throne worthy_. I would have set myself to the task long ago but I'm too old and well known to fool King Kurt and his men. However, an unknown youth, perhaps, a strong willed one, could alleviate poor Jakob and his people of this yearly ache." 

The monster was real.

Erik was going to slay it.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The **klismos** is a comfy type of chair in ancient Greek houses  
>  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klismos.


	12. Chapter 12

**XII  
Crete**

  


Jakob had been against Erik's reckless plan from the start and wouldn't change his mind. He didn't want to lose his one and only son, his and Edie's fruit borne of love, to Crete's monster.

But Erik persisted.

Day after day he would ask his father to send him on the shipment to Crete and Sebastian would back him up while Emma kept to herself any judgment on the matter.

Erik wanted to bring justice to Athens' people, he didn't want any more families devastated by grief and loss for he knew those aches himself too well. He would avenge them and their dead. Blood for blood, the beast would pay, the Cretan King's reign of terror would end.

A monster would be slain, even if wasn't Erik's one.

So Erik persisted.

He had to shave his beard --much to his shame and to Sebastian's disturbing glee-- to look younger, as young as the _chosen_ but he persisted.

And the King acquiesced.

With great mortification, Jakob talked to his son before the ship to Crete parted. His eyes were red from sleepless nights of worry and weeping, his voice hoarse and doleful.

"Oh, my son, so short a time I've known you but you are my heart and my soul. Must you truly go?"

"I promise you, Father, I'll return victorious."

"I only wish for you to return and no more. Return to me alive, Erik."

Sebastian handed Erik two sails, one white and one black. "The ship will depart with the black sail," he explained, "and you will exchange it for the white one should you return alive and well. Black it'll remain should you not." Should death befell him.

The King hugged his son with feeble arms, his body tired and weak. "I love you. May the Gods be with you, may they lend you their strength," he said as tears trailed down his pale face. 

Prince Sebastian gave three hard pats to Erik's shoulder. "Go with my prayers, Erik, and worry not; I'll look out for Jakob and Athens while you are away," he promised.

Erik worried, but left.

Everyone on the ship was scared, even the guards and men who where there only to deliver the human cargo.

"They say if you have pretty eyes the beast will get to you first and gouge them out for it likes those the most," said one of the frightened maidens and everyone looked at Erik for his were the most unusual eyes of the lot: grey-green, stormy sea. Erik was unperturbed.

"I heard it likes women better, for their flesh is softer," said a youth.

"I was told it likes men better, for they are meatier," replied a girl.

"My master investigated some and rumors say it can't see in the dark and the labyrinth has no lights so if you hide in a corner and make no sound it might not find you at all."

"What if it smells you?"

"A friend of the family told my mother the beast likes long hair so it always leaves those for last," the girl raked nervously a hand through her brown hair which easily reached her calves.

"I rather be eaten first, you can't escape the beast and if you somehow do, you'll only end up lost in the maze and starve to death so why prolong the inevitable? You all can run while it eats me, for all the good it'll do you."

The ghastly discussion continued thorough the journey with even the ship's whole crew joining in. The maidens broke in cries and wails while the boys presented a brave front that eventually dwindled the closer they got to their destination.

Erik remained strong. 

He remembered his brief childhood fear of the beast and remained strong.  
"Those are the cells where you'll be kept for the King to meet you before you are sent into the Labyrinth," explained the oldest of the crewmen, one of the first men to pay a daughter to Crete since the horror began. He had been in each and every shipment watching over and comforting the young on their last journey in her honor.

They could see the small stone building near the docks, the only other construction around the almost barren land besides the gargantuan, impossibly wide, stone and metal structure roughly a _plethron_ behind. The Labyrinth.

As soon as they set foot on the island, quick lest their welcoming party noticed, Erik aimed his dagger to the grounds at the back of the cells and sent it flying. It pierced through a shrub and stuck to its trunk. Waiting.

Once the Cretan soldiers arrived, the crewmen hugged and waved goodbye to their doomed, sadness etched all over their weary faces -- the brave men wouldn't truly part, however, they were to hide and wait for Erik to return with the monster's head or not return at all. They would wait a week and no more. A week and they would go, a black sail secured to the ship's mast.

Every one of the youths were placed in an individual cell after a thorough search, the maidens wept inconsolably as did some of the youngest males, those who kept quiet were so still and pale that they might as well have been dead already.

After a few hours, when the whimpering and sobbing had calmed some, one of their guards announced in a thundering voice that King Kurt would be visiting in two days. They were given good food and fresh water but very few had the strength to stomach any of it. Erik ate every scrap and drank every drop for he knew he'd need it later to carry on his dreadful task.

He took his chance by nightfall, when they were left alone briefly, the soldiers having some sort of meeting at the camp they had set up some _podes_ away outside the building. Erik climbed the back wall of his cell until he reached the small barred window and called to his dagger hidden away in the wild shrubbery; it rushed to his outstretched hand, thrumming happily.

With the help of his dagger, Erik escaped his cell unnoticed, and walked to the Labyrinth but before he could reach the sealed golden entrance he heard footsteps nearby and hid behind a particularly thick shrub.

A Cretan soldier, his hair was the color of barley in summer, walked to the maze's gate and knocked twice. 

"Is Nobody home?" the soldier hissed at the golden giant door.

There was no answer.

The soldier kicked the door a few times and repeated his question. "Is Nobody home?"

When a response failed to come his way, the soldier huffed and rounded the place. Erik followed silently, curious, for the soldier behaved suspiciously, avoiding his peers and walking by the shadows until he reached a certain wall of the Labyrinth that had holes carved in. The soldier used them to climb to the top unaware of his tail. 

There were no places to hide on the expansive roof, it was all a bare expanse of rock with some hints of metal under Selene's pale caress so Erik had to be careful here. His dagger warned him of every movement of the iron helmet dutifully worn by the soldier and that way he was able to trail him for about an hour to the Labyrinth's center without being seen.

There, the Cretan soldier spoke to a barred hole at his feet.

"Is Nobody home?"

Erik strained to hear for a small voice did reply this time.

"Alexandros!" it said, "I'm so terribly sorry, I was supposed to meet you at the door!"

"No matter, they are already here and we were told the Pig King will be here in two days to meet them."

There was an intelligible grumble.

"It's not treason if no one hears me say it."

Another sound.

"I don't care. Have you eaten yet?"

Erik missed most of the conversation but at the end of it he saw the soldier reach into his armor and retrieve a tiny bundle that he unfolded to reveal a piece of rich bread. The same rich bread they had been given to eat earlier at the cells.

"Catch!"

Something metal, silver-made, moved underneath the roof where the soldier let the food in through the hole. Erik's dagger knew. Erik's dagger sung to him: There is Silver at the heart of the Labyrinth and nowhere else in it. There is Gold at the door of the Labyrinth and nowhere else in it.

"Can you believe they feed them better food than us hard-working soldiers? Well, it's only fair, I guess. They are supposed to die soon."

Erik ran while the soldier's attention was still averted. He could faintly hear him chuckle in the distance and say something about twitching ears before he was too far to be seen.  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Plethron** is an ancient greek unit of measurement equal to 100 _podes_ or 30.8 m.
> 
>  **Podes** is the plural of _pous_ an ancient greek unit equal to 0.308 m or a foot.
> 
> Hair but more specifically beards, were very important in ancient Greece. Beards were a sign of virility and it was shameful, _effeminate_ to shave. Some men trimmed their beards, but mostly, men only shaved when in mourning, for funerals.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII  
The Monster in the Labyrinth**

  


Erik was back to the Labyrinth's door. It was going to dawn soon.

With a flick of his dagger, Erik opened the golden gate and with another one closed it once he was inside the maze. There were scarce iron and bronze bits scattered within the gravel walls which helped him draw a map of the place in his mind. 

He headed for the center.

_It can't see in the dark and there are no lights in the Labyrinth._

Erik walked slowly, patiently, so as to make no noises and kept close to the walls, hiding in shadows within shadows in the overwhelming darkness. He could hear rats roaming around, he moved mindful of them.

_What if it smells you?_

A squeak called Erik's attention and he brought his dagger down on the thing. It died down with a pitiful whine.

Gold at the door, Silver at the heart.

Erik let the placid buzz of his dagger guide him.

A turn here, straight ahead, turn, turn, straight, turn, turn, straight, straight, turn. The closer Erik got to the center the more he noticed the sound of... water. It wasn't quite like that of a running stream, although it was consistent. A fountain perhaps. A very small fountain.

A very small fountain on a wall in the circular room in the center of the maze. And there was light.

There were four exits --or entrances-- in the room too, Erik was coming in from one of them. To his right, the fountain poured crystal clear water from the mouth of a stone bull into a half empty marble basin; to his left a battered open chest with several piles of parchments within rested against the wall. Across the room, hooked to the wall, were a knee length sleeveless _chiton_ , a _chiton syrtos_ and a _himation_ , all clean if a bit well-worn, but no footwear could be seen anywhere. 

The source of light was a barred hole on the roof, in the middle of the room. The tremulous sunshine coming through told him it was early morning. Under it lay a stone table, a silver tray atop it, and an old wooden stool.

And there, behind the table was a _kline_ and in the _kline_ someone, sleeping.

Erik approached the slumbering figure cautiously, dagger in hand.

"Mother?" it mumbled but didn't rouse.

It was a person, linens covering the body but for the upper half. The voice had been slurred, the owner still half in Morpheus' realm, and whoever it was, was asleep on its side, its back to Erik. This one's skin was so fair and smooth looking, so soft to the touch --when Erik dared to put a hand on a naked round shoulder-- that he thought it a maiden for a moment. But it wasn't. 

It was a youth. 

A youth with long brown hair, silky on Erik's fingers, and a kind placid face, clean. His lips were invitingly red and full.

A beautiful youth. 

He stirred under Erik's scrutiny, Erik's touch, and opened sky blue eyes, so vivid, so clear, entrancing. Those enchanting eyes locked into Erik's stormy ones and the youth startled.

"Who are you?" he shouted, "You stink of dead rat!"

_It likes pretty eyes,_

_It likes long hair so it always leaves those for last,_

Erik shushed him before the beast could hear them. For whatever reason, may it be his eyes, may it be his beauty, his lips or perhaps uncanny wit, the youth had survived the Labyrinth a year whole. It would not do to allow him to perish now.

"Calm down, I'm here to help," said Erik and the youth sat up to sniff better at him.

"Athena gracious! You smell of Icarus' blood. Why do you smell of Icarus? Did you hurt him?"

"Who's this Icarus you speak of?" hissed Erik motioning for the loud youth to keep their voices low lest they were found out. Could it be the beast had a name? Icarus was too human a name for a monster.

"My pet rat! My rat, Icarus, you stink of his blood! Why?" the youth's eyes were big and disbelieving before they narrowed, his lips thinned and his body stiffened.

"The rat's blood is to cover my scent. Had to kill a couple, now hush and do as I say!"

"Murderer!" cried the youth and shoved Erik away. "Leave the way you came and never return!"

Insane. The youth had gone insane, clearly, but Erik wouldn't abandon him. He'd take him back to the Labyrinth's entrance and then come back to slay the beast. He grabbed the youth's arm and pulled but the other resisted stubbornly, screaming even, which forced Erik to put a hand over his mouth and wrestle him into submission. When the youth stilled in Erik's one-armed embrace and began to deflate, Erik spoke:

"I'm here to save you. Don't be afraid."

But the youth shook against him, not a struggle, but merely the vibrations of laughing. Perplexed, Erik took his hand from the youth's mouth who thus freed, replied:

"I don't need saving, Stranger." 

Then Erik noticed that the youth's lower half wasn't covered anymore. With horror he saw that where smooth skin should be, there was red brown fur and where feet would be, there were hooves. 

Ice crept down his spine before his chest lit up with the fire of rage.

Erik pinned the beast down and snarled to its face.

"You tricked me!"

"You killed my rat!"

Erik raised his dagger, furious. He had thought the creature beautiful, he had touched it, had petted his soft hair, had... had...

"You _Monster!_! Leave him alone!" shrieked a voice from one of the room's entrances and Erik turned his head, dagger still above the beast aiming to its heart, to see a maiden with long blond hair clutching a leather sack to her breast.

"Fear not for me, fair maiden, for I'm far from helpless," Erik assured her, "I shall slay this fiend at once and be done with it."

"I'll slay _you_ , you _barbaros!_!" the girl screeched at the same time she retrieved an item from her sack and threw it to Erik's face. 

It was a stone amphora. 

He didn't move fast enough.

It hit. It hurt.

As his vision blurred and his body slumped to the ground, Erik heard a squeak and saw a rat approach him and then turn away as if panicked. He also heard the maiden speak frantically, hardly discerning her words, to someone. "Are you well? By Hera, I swear if he hurt you I'll--"

His dagger called to him but Erik was too tired, his head felt too heavy and his face was in pain. Blood muddled his eyes.

Darkness.

_"Oh, Mighty Zeus! I think you killed him!"_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A **Chiton** was a form of clothing worn by men and women in Ancient Greece.
> 
> A **Chiton syrtos** was a long Chiton that dragged the ground.
> 
> A **Himation** was a mantle.
> 
> A **Kline** was couch/bed.
> 
>  **Barbaros** means Barbarian.


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV  
Dance of Eros**

  


Erik woke to unfamiliar voices. His first instinct was to remain calm, not let the enemy know he'd regained consciousness; his second was to locate his dagger which was nearby, resting but ready to obey him.

He was slumped against a bare wall in the center room of the Labyrinth though his arms and legs were tied behind his back. He had been cleaned and even had fresh clothes on. He felt the sting of the cuts in his face but the pain was dull and distant, something cold and viscous had been applied over them. 

Ropes had never been able to restrain him before, however. As long as his dagger was close, he would be well. 

"But there's a dead man in my room!" the creature, the conniving beast of the maze, spoke to the sun haired witch that had struck Erik down moments ago.

There was food on the stone table and the witch sat on the stool, cutting a plum in half. The beast prowled in front of her, its arms behind its back and it wore the sleeveless _chiton_ Erik had seen hooked to one of the room's walls before. In that wall hung only the _himation_ now.

"You are the genius here, Charles, and you know he's alive. So stop your worrying and eat something or, pray to Olympus, I'm going to maul you."

The beast stopped his fretting to look at the witch.

"Alexandros brought me bread already."

"It's not enough. They always try to starve you a month before The Sacrifice. Sit. Eat. Now."

The beast did as told and sat on the floor where the witch made it eat plums, apples and some greens.

"You know," she said, "Alexandros is quite taken with you."

"He's such a nice young man, isn't he?"

"Don't play coy, Charles."

The beast chuckled meekly, a strange beast this was.

The witch let out a long suffering sigh and threw olives at the smiling monster.

"Just... think about it, please?"

The beast said nothing, its eyes downcast, and the witch smiled ruefully.

Both ate in companionable silence, ignorant of Erik's prying but when the beast was offered a piece of chicken, it flinched. 

"You know I don't eat meat."

And Erik thought it weird for a man-eating monster should eat, well, flesh. How curious a foe, so full of surprises and deceit. If it didn't eat meat what were the Tributes for?

The witch rolled her eyes but her smile was affectionate. "That's why you are such a weakling."

Erik also puzzled about the witch. It had to be a witch for why would she befriend Crete's Terror and how could she have found her way into the Labyrinth so easily when even Erik had had to rely on his trustworthy dagger's advice? Her speech was also far from that of a proper lady as atrocious were her manners. 

She was no maiden in danger.

Erik wouldn't be able to slay the monster with her around. It was not that Erik was afraid of her unknown magicks, it was common sense. He would have to wait for his chance at the beast and deal later with the witch.

Perhaps the maidens and youths were not for the beast but for her and the half-bred demon was but a minion, a willing malevolent pawn in her evil scheme.

With a squeak, a plump rat joined the beast on the floor and it was given a few scraps of food. It ate contentedly.

The witch rose to her feet and brushed her midnight blue _peplos_ clean.

"I'll bring Hank to help us get rid of him," she announced gesturing to Erik, who kept faking his sleep, "Keep your guard up in the meantime, be very careful." The beast nodded and walked her to one of the room's exits then handed her the leather sack she had brought. She grimaced when its contents clanked.

"I'm sorry about the amphora, oh Charles, Hank had bought it for you and I went and broke it."

"Worry not, dear mine, I appreciate the sentiment." 

Erik hadn't known until this very day that witches could coo and mewl in delight. 

They hugged and said their farewells. 

"Show her the way, Daedalus," commanded the beast to the fat rat at its feet. The foul animal squeaked and the witch left with it.

Silence.

The beast was finally alone.

Erik called to his dagger and it dutifully cut his restraints, he was free to fight, free to carry on his task. He stood and stalked to his prey but just as he reached its back, the beast turned to him.

"You untied yourself! Astounding! Simply astounding! May I inquire how?" It was genuinely thrilled, its smile wide with joy and its bright blue eyes lit with delight.

Erik's hold on his dagger tightened. 

"Ah, where are my manners? Would you like something to eat? There's still plenty of food on the table. Come, please, have something!" It fretted around the table putting together a meal on a chipped marble plate.

Erik wasn't fooled. Whatever game the creature was playing, Erik would not be part of it. He would end Athens' curse at once, he would slay the beast.

It brought water from the fountain, the cup old and slightly cracked, and offered the drink to him.

"I would like to offer you wine, alas, Raven and I drank it all."

Erik would not be tricked twice.

Erik would prevail.

The beast's face was so open, its cheeks pink, his eyes honest, his smile dazzling, his lips full.

He was beautiful.

And,

perhaps,

Erik was hungry.

So Erik ate, and listened to the beast --his name was Charles-- talk and talk about this and that. He knew of philosophy, he liked mathematics and he loved the natural sciences, he had trained the rats to solve the maze and obey. 

Charles was a faun, of course he was, not to be confused with a satyr because satyrs were wild and lusty and Charles, Charles liked to be polite and private.

Charles liked to read and hear stories and the texts in the room were all his, they used to be part of a bigger library someplace somewhere sometime. 

Charles lived alone in the labyrinth and hardly had anyone to talk to although Raven --not a witch, just a local woman-- and her husband visited once every other week and Alexandros --a soldier usually in service at the palace-- spent all the time he could spare with him when he and his men came to the coast for the Sacrifice proceedings. He didn't come into the maze, however, for he got lost easily and the rats didn't like him so they talked through the door or the hole in the roof.

Charles was smart, he had ideas many men would consider too wild for modern society but he made them sound plausible, even necessary. He also had a wicked sense of humor.

Erik spoke little of himself but Charles didn't pry. He smiled and awed at Erik's few stories of his land, Troezen, of his training, of his childhood games. In the end, Erik only revealed his own name as well as the barest hints of his past, of happier times, keeping secret his lineage, his tragedy and his mission.

By night, he was given one of Charles' pillows and spared a mantle.

"Good night, Erik, sleep well," said Charles with cheer before putting off his candle's light.

And Erik lay on his makeshift bed by a bare wall, sleepless. 

Erik was on a mission of justice, he had to kill the beast. He had to kill Charles and avenge the Athenian families he had wronged. Avenge the Athenian innocents lost to him. 

He was being played, he knew, Charles --the beast--Charles-- couldn't be the sunny creature he appeared to be. Then again, fauns weren't blood-thirsty by nature, he'd heard the stories Pan, the God of the Fields, from his mother, but then there were the maidens and youths. There was the Sacrifice.

Erik rose, dagger in hand, and walked to the sleeping Charles. He grabbed him by the shoulder and jostled him awake, his blade at his throat whispering death yet barely touching the delicate pale skin. Charles strangely, frustratingly, wasn't afraid.

"I could kill you," hissed Erik.

"But you won't," replied Charles, calm.

Erik brought the hand not holding his dagger to Charles' face. He brushed his knuckles gently over his cheek then his jaw. 

Charles lips were soft and pliant when Erik smoothed his thumb over them.

"Is, is this what you do?" asked Erik as he dropped his dagger to cradle Charles' face with both hands. "You seduce them, one by one, with your silver tongue and your deceiving beauty..."

Charles blushed at his words, another trick, surely, for he looked even more tempting under Selene's eerie light, the pale of his face rosy tinted and his eyes black holes surrounded by a ring of the purest blue.

"...and once you have them under your spell you eat them. You wicked foul beast."

Erik brought down his lips to Charles' in a desperate violent kiss. Charles gasped in surprise and Erik didn't hesitate to push his tongue in to mercilessly plunder his mouth. Erik's hands held Charles's head in a vice grip, not letting him go. There was fire in his chest and Charles tasted good, like apples, like wine, sweet, so sweet.

The kiss lasted until Erik had to let go to breathe.

"I don't eat meat," panted Charles once his mouth, red and kiss-swollen, was free, "It upsets my stomach."

Erik looked at him while his hands explored Charles' body, greedily taking in the supple flesh and warm skin of his sides, back and arms both naked and covered by the _chiton_ he'd donned to bed.

"Don't lie to me, trickster! Every year seven maidens and seven youths from Athens are to come to Crete, enter _your_ liar and never leave."

"Or they could be tortured to death by my King instead." At this, Erik stopped his frenzied exploration of Charles' lithe body and demanded to be told more.

Charles sat up and slung his furred legs over the _kline_ 's edge, his hooves touched the ground quietly. He made a space next to him which Erik occupied without much thinking, they were so close to each other that their shoulders touched.

"Either the Athenians come into the maze and are eaten by me," Charles chuckled self-consciously then, his next words mocking, "or, well, apparently, seduced by my silver tongue and deceiving beauty _and then_ eaten by me."

Erik glared. Charles laughed but it was brief for his face darkened when he continued his tale.

"Or else they would be taken to King Kurt's palace and beaten and then murdered. He wants Athens to suffer for his son's death, he's full of rancor, mad with rage."

"So I'm the monster he needs, in the labyrinth he built, so the young sacrifices are sent to me for me to punish and kill. Only I'm not, only I don't."

"This is a delicate process, but it's for everyone's benefit. After the Athenians come into my maze, I free one of them every night, if I freed them all at once, King Kurt would notice. The rats guide them to a secret backdoor in my stead, the backdoor Raven and his husband use when they visit, for I must watch over my guests by night and by day procure my King an spectacle of screams and gore and fear."

Charles' ears --now Erik noticed them, round and goat-like-- twitched as he grinned with excitement. 

"Oh, Erik, I'm hardly a proud faun but my recipe for fake blood is uncannily convincing. Not even Alexandros can tell it apart from the real thing."

Erik didn't reply but snaked an arm around Charles, too tired to fight himself over it.

"Most of the sacrifices are slaves so I think they aren't too keen to return to their former lives once I set them free, the ones who aren't slaves, well, I don't know what would keep them from Athens and their families." Charles shrugged and Erik tightened his hold. 

"Raven was one of the first slaves I liberated. She too tried to kill me when we met," said Charles with a hearty laugh, "Then she helped me free the others and was the last one to leave. She found her happiness in the village closest to here."

"I want to believe you," said Erik at last.

Charles' eyes were beseeching as he looked up at Erik. 

"Then do it. Believe me."

Erik kissed him again, gently. He coaxed his mouth open with the tip of his tongue and when Charles acquiesced he delved inside tasting him slowly. Unlike their first kiss, Charles was an active participant this time, although his moves were clumsy.

"I've never been kissed like that," admitted Charles once they separated, "with tongue, I mean. I hope I'm not doing too badly," he flushed at this and his ears twitched timidly. When Erik touched them, they felt soft, velvety smooth, and by Charles' reaction --a low moan--, they were quite sensitive.

"What have you done to me, Charles?" he asked, nuzzling reddish brown hair, his nose thumping against a small horn at the top left of Charles' head. It must be some kind of magic, some sort of spell, Erik had been bewitched, there was no other way.

"I don't know," Charles confession was sincere, he sounded perplexed.

Erik kissed his shoulder, the one left exposed by his _chiton_ and Charles shuddered. That's when he pushed Erik away, not unkindly, and said that they should go to sleep so their heads cleared and that perhaps by morning the strangeness of the night would be gone. 

When Erik woke at dawn the next day, he thought Charles had been right. 

He didn't feel as lost as he had the night before, whatever had overcome him had dispelled and with eyes still closed, even breath and rested body, he decided he would give Charles a chance to prove his claims true or else plead for his life.

He heard water running, the fountain, and opened his eyes in its direction.

Charles was taking a bath. 

He scrubbed his skin with a wet cloth that he then dipped in a bowl, then in the basin under the fountain and then in another bowl. He did all this half-sitting half-crouching, his movements short and rushed and his _chiton_ lay two or three _podes_ away, safe from any splashing water.

Charles squeezed the wet cloth over his right shoulder and Erik was entranced by the rivulets of water traveling down his back and lower, lower until they reached the swell of his rump. His creamy, clean rump.

"Your arse is furless," he said distracted.

Charles startled, he dropped his washcloth and upturned one of his bowls in his haste to reach something to cover himself. 

"My apologies, I thought I would, ah, before you woke, I don't like being dirty, I needed a bath I-- WHY WHERE YOU EVEN LOOKING AT MY ARSE?" Charles' face was red as a beet, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Do you shave your arse?"

"WHAT? No! It's always been that way!" Charles' voice was a pitch higher than normal and indignant too.

"But your tail is furry." 

Erik rose to his feet and walked to Charles who began to fret. He had never seen a real faun before, but he had seen the drawings in the parchments, heard the servants and his mother describe them. He had never found them particularly interesting, not like the powerful centaurs or the enchanting nereids or the alluring nymphs, but Charles, Charles was fascinating. Erik's thoughts clouded and his hands itched to touch him.

"I know I'm a weird faun, well I think, for I've never met other fauns. There was this satyr once but-- Don't, please..." the last said in a gasp as Erik grabbed with a hand the cloth with which Charles covered. 

"Are you furless between your legs too?" he asked genuinely curious and yanked the fabric away. Charles resisted but Erik was stronger.

Charles wasn't entirely furless between his legs. His manhood was nestled in a brown bush of hair but the strands weren't as long as the fur of his legs and they were neatly curled. He wasn't erect, the little head snuggly wrapped in soft skin. 

Erik ran his fingers alongside Charles' length, palmed him to test the weight then circled the base to appraise the girth. It wasn't the first penis he had seen or touched yet it was the first one he felt so compelled to taste. He let go abruptly, surprised by his thoughts.

"Why are you doing this?" asked him Charles, ashamed and angry.

"I don't know," was Erik's honest answer. He truly didn't know, he didn't know why he felt the way he did, why his hands raked down Charles back until they rested over his arse. Why the fire burned so in him. Why his hands squeezed firm flesh and spread. He had never wanted another male like this, a fierce hunger he couldn't explain. He had been with other boys in his youth, but Charles, Charles was-- Charles wasn't even human. 

"You've put a spell on me."

"I haven't!"

"I want to bed you, Charles."

There were angry tears on Charles' face when Erik kissed him, a broken sob in his throat when he licked down his neck, Charles' hands clutched desperately the front of Erik's robes when Erik rested his forehead over the pale expanse of a naked shoulder.

They stood like that, unmoving, until Erik was able to will his fire down and Charles' labored breaths evened. 

"I'm sorry," said Erik.

Charles nodded but said nothing. They let go of each other and Erik turned his back to Charles for him to get dressed. 

It had been a kiss, a small taste of his skin and a touch, nothing more. He had declared intentions he hadn't known for sure he truly meant until he had voiced them. 

Erik realized that he wouldn't be able to leave the Labyrinth without Charles or a heart shattered in a million shards.

"I haven't done that," said Charles behind him some time later. Erik couldn't face him, not with his soul so bare, so easy to hurt; he remained looking at the walls.

"I've read about it, ah, intercourse, between humans," Charles' voice was soft, his words tentative, "which I'm not. So, why would any sane person want to bed, well, bed me? I'm not saying you are ill, my friend, just, well, how could anyone see me that way?

No one has done it before."

"How could they not?" Erik sighed, "you are beautiful and smart, entertaining and kind. Could you be deceiving me? I would like to think so for it would be so much easier then."

When Erik found the strength to turn around, Charles was right before him and his blues bore into him bright with an uncertain emotion.

"You are perfection," declared Erik, his hands cupping Charles' jaw, his thumbs brushing reverently over rosy cheeks.

Charles threw both arms over Erik's shoulders, around and over his neck, to bring him lower and closer.

Charles kissed Erik.

Erik kissed back.

The fire was back and this time Charles didn't shy away.

They ended up on the _kline_ , Erik on top. They kissed and kissed and Erik tasted and touched and nipped and bit. Charles hands were as curious as his and they learned his back, his chest, his arms, his legs and rear.

Erik bit down Charles' neck and Charles moaned, he lapped at the bruising skin and kissed lower, sucked at his collarbone. When he took a perked nipple in his mouth and toyed with it with a wild tongue, Charles whimpered and whined and a long groan escaped him that when he bit down softly on the hardened nub turned into a loud bleat.

Charles' hands flew to cover his own mouth; his whole body went still.

Erik looked up to find Charles pale, scared.

"Charles?"

"I didn't mean to. I'm so terribly sorry, so terribly, terribly sorry, so--" he could barely make out Charles' answer so Erik tried to pry his entwined hands away, an incredibly difficult task. He was stronger and stubborn, however, and was victorious.

"Erik, no," pleaded Charles.

"Is this about the bleating?"

A nod, saddened and embarrassed.

"It's fine. I like everything about you," which Erik proved with a heated kiss. And another. And a pinch to Charles' meaty buttock, a pull of his tail. Charles let out another bleat at that and Erik drowned it in a savage kiss, burning inside like he had never done before and Charles was crying, clinging to him, happy so happy and relieved.

Eros' golden arrow had struck, in the depths of a maze of death and fear, Eros had finally succeeded after so many years of failure. There was no other explanation, no other reason for Erik, for Erik...

...for Erik was in love with Charles.


	15. Chapter 15

**XV  
Hank and Raven**

  


"Do you like this?"

Clothing out of the way, Erik had aligned his and Charles' bodies so their lengths touched with their rocking, then he couldn't stop moving and moving and moving. It felt good. He wanted more.

"Yes, oh Erik, oh, it feels so nice."

Erik urged Charles' thrusts with both his hands gripping hard his arse, pulling him up and against his own grinding hips but soon not even that was enough. He kissed him once, twice, then captured one of his roaming hands to drag it down between their bodies.

"Have you touched yourself before?" he asked panting.

"You mean _A-anaphlan?_ " Charles reddened. "I, ah, perhaps I have, all intellectual curiosity," he babbled nervously, half delirious with the newly found pleasure of another's heat against his. 

"Your hand, around us both, stroke us both the way you like it," said Erik and Charles did. They both moaned.

A grunt.

A whimper.

A quiet strangled sound Charles ignored this time and Erik didn't mind just as he hadn't before.

"You are doing good. Gods Charles, so good."

Charles squirmed under him, lost in passion, his hand and Erik's joined around themselves. The air smelled of Charles, smelled of Erik, smelled of love. They were so close.

"Erik, Erik, _Erik_!"

"Don't stop Charles, don't--"

"Zeus, Hera and the pits of Tartaro!" screamed a female voice, "Satyr! Pervert! Deranged centaur spawn, you!"

Something clinked and clanked and banged. Charles and Erik stared at the room's entrance from where the shouting came. 

It was Raven, her leather sack on the ground where glass vases, stone cups and metal tools rolled out from within; a tall man so still that he could as well have been made of stone, stood to her side, red faced and stricken. The fat rat that had brought them squeaked and ran into the depths of the maze.

She was stalking hydra, a raging dragon, Raven raised her fists and, as fast as Hermes, she ran to Erik, powerful as Hercules, she struck.

Why was this woman so strong if she wasn't a witch? Erik reflected as his sight muddled some. He was awkwardly hauled away by feeble male arms and dropped unceremoniously against a far away wall, barely outside of the center room. He could have fought, he had been taken by surprise but he was strong and resourceful, he could have fought the man, he could have retaliated the woman's aggression a thousand fold. He would have made Charles miserable and his actions even more misunderstood.

"--tried to kill you and then rape you! I leave you alone one day, one single day to find him ravaging you. What's your cursed problem?"

Raven scolded Charles while the unnamed man was arranging the dropped contents of her sack onto the table. He unpacked bones, dried animal skins and human skulls from a bundle at his back.

Erik tried to move closer to the room and scope a better look but he was roped, again. The man had tied him quite tightly, his knots a masterful tangle of inescapable loops. He managed a wriggle and craned his head to Charles' direction.

"--going to cut his manhood and throw it to the fish!"

"Raven, he didn't do anything I didn't want."

"So you wanted to be raped? Hank, come have a look at Charles for I dread he's hit his head badly, he's talking nonsense!"

Raven's companion approached them and took Charles' face in both hands. Something in Erik's chest twisted at that and he struggled fiercely against his restraints.

"Don't touch him!" he bellowed.

The man --Hank-- released Charles as if burned.

"I was, was only checking for head wounds!" he spluttered.

Charles smiled warmly, placed a calming hand on Hank's forearm. "Raven was talking in jest, my friend, don't take her words to heart. As for Erik, he means no harm."

Erik let out an irritated huff, he felt for his dagger and at his whispered command it came to him.

"Alexandros spoke to me, he was worried about you, was even going to come into the maze to look for you," said Raven taking Charles' hands in hers.

"Mighty Zeus! No! He would get helplessly lost and it could take me, take us, days to find him!"

"Luckily I found him before he made such a foolish mistake. Listen, Charles, he heard the Athenians speak of a savior, an Athenian champion hidden amongst them who would slay you and free Athens of the Tribute."

Erik tensed, his ropes half-cut. Hank had paled and Raven's eyes were hard on a troubled Charles.

"Alexandros told me there was a youth missing from the holding cells. They searched all around but didn't find him. Nobody should be able to enter the Labyrinth without the King's key, but then there's the backdoor."

"He called you by the golden gate yesterday, when you didn't answer he called you through the hole in the roof but you didn't show and he didn't see you. He tried the other meeting point by the east wall too. He was worried sick."

"Apparently this champion can't go back to Athens unless he does so with your head on a platter," added Hank. He glanced nervously at Erik before resting a hand on Charles' shoulder.

Charles' expression was one of hurt and betrayal as he turned to Erik.

"It's you," was all he said.

"Charles," Erik replied, his heart wild and his throat dry. No lie had been told, Erik was the Athenian Champion. 

He didn't want Charles to hate him.

"You, you didn't have to be so cruel. You could have been kind and killed me in my sleep last night instead of, instead of--"

Raven and Hank gasped.

"So who was it that really seduced his victims with silver tongue and beauty before the deadly strike?" Charles's eyes were wide and round, they shone with pain. 

Erik rose to his feet, free now, and ran to him. This time he shoved the woman and her companion out of his way to stand before Charles. He grabbed one of his hands and kissed his knuckles.

"I came to slay a man-eating beast but found you in its place. And I believe you, Charles, I believe your tale and so I beg you to believe mine."

"How the foul breath of Cerberus did you get free?" shouted Raven.

"Apparently he cut the ropes, such a mystery," Hank's voice.

Charles didn't take his hand back from Erik's grasp so Erik braved on. Going down on a knee he spoke.

"There's no monster here for me to slay anymore, only a gentle brave faun and my love, for I love you Charles. You have my heart and I hope to one day win yours."

"Oh, for Hera, Charles, you can't honestly--"

"I believe you, Erik."

So easy. Charles trusted him so easily. Such a naive, kind soul. Erik enveloped him in a tight embrace, he would protect him, no one would harm this beautiful creature any more.

Charles pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and the cold heavy weight of dread has lifted from Erik's chest. His heart beat anew, stronger than ever. He buried his face in Charles neck, relieved.

But Raven still didn't believe him, Hank as well was dubious at best, and both told him that even if his words were sincere, his love was doomed to perish for Charles was tied to the maze, forever its host, never to leave.

Even if Charles were to depart, seven maidens and seven youths would still be sacrificed to the Labyrinth every year, this time without a helping hand to set them free; they would get lost in the maze and eventually die of hunger and thirst. 

Erik said nothing more on the matter, but promised himself --and Erik always kept his promises-- that he would devise a plan to free Charles and take him home, to Troezen, where he'd be safe until Erik sorted out his vengeance and Athens' throne. 

He asked about Hank's macabre display on the stone table, however, and Charles' reply was an excited prattle on the gory show smartly put together for the King with homemade blood, animal bones and skins arranged to look human as well as stone carved skulls. All hand crafted by Hank and Charles.

"The King likes to see evidence of the 'carnage' so we place these on strategic places for him. They stay a week until the King leaves, then we clean it away," Charles said.

Hank was a physician, an architect and a mathematician. He and Charles shared a passion for the study of the human and animal bodies, taking notes, making observations, exchanging theories, carrying on harmless experimentations.

Raven had been a house slave back in Athens, she loved Charles like one loved family; once out of the Labyrinth, far away from her master and free, she had found refuge in Hank's home where she fell in love with the odd man. They had married and they owned a small farm which Raven worked daily with joy --that's why she was unusually strong-- while her husband healed the villagers and was frequently consulted over matters in construction. 

Hank had no slaves, he had liberated the few he had had before marrying Raven. Still, many of his former-slaves, as well as some Labyrinth escapees, kept working for him in the farm as free men. Such a development was to be expected, however. Where else would have they thrived?

What confounded Erik was how Hank referred to his lands as Raven's property.

Charles and Hank busied themselves with their eerie yearly task and Erik and Raven were quickly out of their minds. So Erik sat against a wall, eyes never leaving Charles, and Raven sat next to him, sully at first, but easing a little after a while. She would smile and her eyes would soften every time they locked with Hank's or Charles'.

"So how did you fall in?" she asked Erik without looking at him, her attention firm on her husband and her friend, "For me it was the speech about the injustices of the so called civilized society toward women and slaves," her smile was fond, nostalgic.

"I saw him bathing this morning."

And Raven laughed, an undignified loud cackle that rang through the room for a long time.

"You men, you men really think with only the wrong head," Raven shook with mirth.

Erik gave her a small curt smile and that was that. The animosity they felt towards each other slowly ebbed away, an old feud, a forgotten war.

"Those two can be quite morbid," she said later, "look at them build fake human body parts, and enjoy it."

Their handiwork was good, Erik could appreciate the skill. Hank worked fast, his hands quick and nimble, Charles was more patient, every movement calculated and resolute.

Raven looked at Erik, her face was serious and her voice hard when she said: "Don't you dare to hurt him. You see him merry and trusting but he's had his share of horrors, not only those of the Labyrinth but others far worse before."

Her words caught Erik who, intrigued, prompted her to say more. She refused to delve into details, she didn't know much, most of the story had been relied to her by a drunken Alexandros one night many a year ago, so all she said instead was:

"All you need to know is that the seven years it took the Kingdom's architects to build the Labyrinth, King Kurt and the brute he had for a son didn't sat idle but did the unspeakable to make out of Charles the monster they so desired.

"They wanted Charles to be lost in bitterness and hatred. A mad monster of blind fury, a fiend of unending spite."

"But Charles is strong. His heart remained gentle and his mind bright. So don't you dare to break that gentle heart, don't you dare to cloud that bright mind."

Erik wouldn't. 

Their unspoken truce settled further then and both fell in easy conversation although Erik kept mostly to himself, gladly letting the woman relate her own anecdotes. She was in the middle of a story about a fight she had had with another village woman over the theft of cabbages when a bloodied human hand fell onto Erik's lap and Charles shrieked.

"My hand! Erik, Raven, I cut my hand!" cried Charles.

Heart wild in his chest, head working fast as Zeus' lighting, Erik was on his feet in the blink of an eye.

"Ease him to the floor! Stop the bleeding!" he yelled, tearing a piece of his _chiton_ to envelop the hand, and turned a murderous glare to Hank, "Pray the Gods you can reattach it!"

Hank and Charles stared at him from where they stood by the table. Then Charles began to laugh so hard that he had to clutch his stomach with his **two hands** while Hank, caught between amusement and pure terror, fought to keep calm. A snort escaped him nonetheless and Charles laughed even more.

Erik's face grew hot. He had thought, he had really thought that Charles had been injured. He had been ready to brave Mount Pelion in search of _Chiron_ for him.

Charles composed himself and offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Erik, it was all in jest. We just finished it and I thought..."

Erik threw the fake hand at Charles' with vicious force, hitting him hard on the head. The faun staggered a few steps backwards from where he stood and collided with Hank.

"Still in love with him?" asked Raven with a knowing smirk, herself a most frequent victim of similar trickery.

Erik seethed. "With the fury of a thousand Hades-cursed-harpies." 

Raven's response was only a confused, yet amused, look.

Charles retrieved his fake hand and returned to the table to his anxious friend, looking properly chastised by Erik's piercing glare.

The hand had looked very real, had felt very real, it had even bled like a real severed human hand would have. It had even smelled coppery, the stench of death.

Too real.

Erik had fought and killed men and hadn't been able to tell fake from true.

So real.

Uncannily real.

Erik had an epiphany.

"Could you make a head, a human head?" he asked.

"Haven't tried before," replied Charles with a shy smile for he still felt bad about upsetting Erik.

"It's too much trouble. The piece requires a lot of detail to be convincing and some of the necessary materials are hard to come by," said Hank.

Raven who had been paying attention to the exchange, made a face. 

"But you could make one," insisted Erik. 

"Give us a day or two," Hank nodded, "and the right materials of course."

"How thrilling!" exclaimed Charles, "What's on your mind, Erik?" he asked.

"What are you going to do?" Raven frowned, her voice wary.

"I'll do as I came to do," said Erik, "I will slay Charles."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Anaphlan** was how the Greeks referred to masturbation. Anaphlan wasn't an act seen with good eyes. It was kind of taboo as it's always been thorough history. Funny how humanity has always been concerned over masturbation, all those crazy contraptions and preventive measures they've come with since the oldest of times to stop it.
> 
>  **Centaur spawn.** Centaurs are commonly famous for being rapists ('savage, lustful, drunkards, uncultured delinquents') unless it was **Chiron** of course. **Chiron** the wise, good and kind, the only immortal Centaur, a renown healer, tutor of many famous heroes such as Achilles and Theseus. He lived in Mount Pelion.
> 
> Everyone had slaves in ancient Greece, if you didn't have one you weren't cool. You would be the uncoolest too if you had to do by yourself house chores or tend the lands. Also, just like women and children, slaves weren't nor would ever be citizens, not even when freed.  
> Apparently, they could do any job except for politics, though. Oh, and freed slaves needed a sponsor (usually their former master to whom they still would have to perform some duties) or else they could be divested of all of their possessions and re-enslaved.


	16. Chapter 16

**XVI  
Alexandros**

  


Erik had a most cunning plan:

He would kill Charles and present his head to King Kurt on the day of the Sacrifice. He would then demand for Athens to be released of its yearly Tribute and the King, fearful of Erik's mighty strength, would have to acquiesce. 

Erik would return a Hero to Athens, to his father.

Erik would raise to the throne and by his side would stand his beloved.

His beloved Charles.

For the head presented to the King would be a forge of Hank's and Charles' making. For while Erik impressed the Cretan King and made his demands heard, Charles would leave the maze through the hidden backdoor and find sanctuary in his friends' lands. Until Erik came looking for him.

He had to explain this to Raven, who fought like a wild boar, kicking and punching mercilessly, and Hank, who kept out of their way but had a deadly aim, hitting Erik's head more than twice with cups, plates and a bloodied flying hand.

Charles had been silent all the while. Yes, he had been at first bewildered by Erik's words, but then his face had turned pensive. 

Then Raven attacked. Then Hank shouted something. Then chaos.

And Charles had remained silent, unmoving, thoughtful. Uncaring of Erik's hardships at the hands of his rabid fellows.

"Oh, Erik. That's such a magnificent idea," he had said just when Erik found himself at his wits end.

The battle stopped. 

They talked.

They plotted.

Charles, Erik, Raven and Hank.

They had a plan.

Thus Hank and Raven parted early to gather the materials, they would be returning to the maze within a day at the longest.

They had a plan.

"I fear what will become of me when I leave the Labyrinth," said Charles later at night, "Confinement is all I've known my whole life."

And Erik lay tied on the floor, listening to Charles' worries. For even after clearing Erik's intentions, Raven had had Hank tie him as a 'precaution'.

"Before the Labyrinth it was the cell, before the cell the Library and before the Library..."

Erik urged his dagger to cut his ropes. Charles sounded calm but his voice grew fainter and troubled the more he spoke.

"You are coming with me to Athens," said Erik. 

"To Athens?!"

"Yes. I want you by my side, Charles." Out of his restraints, Erik walked to Charles' _kline_ and sat at its edge. He ran a hand over Charles' pale shoulder, then settled it at the base of his skull where it played with fine hair.

"Oh Erik, I am still what I am and it's a hard secret to hide. I don't think the _polis_ will receive me with open arms, if at all," sighed Charles forlornly, "Although I would have loved to meet with the Philosophers, to visit the Theatre, oh, how wonderful would it have been to attend the _Dionysia_!"

Charles made room for Erik to lay next to him, invitation that Erik readily accepted. Once more Erik felt amazed at the perfect synchronicity of their bodies, harmonious like the matching pieces of a well molded armor, despite, or perhaps even because of, Charles' shortness.

"You are quite familiar with the _polis_ , even though you haven't been out of these walls," observed Erik.

"They tell me stories while they await their leave of the maze," Charles chuckled. _They_ , the boys and girls that once free still didn't return home. Or had they? Erik thought, had they returned to Athens and kept the secret to protect what? who?

What would the King do if Charles' farce was unveiled?

_King Kurt and his brute of a son did the unspeakable,_

Erik brought himself and Charles closer and let his hand roam over milky skin. He reached Charles' legs, splayed his fingers to thread through soft fur. 

A thought occurred to him.

"You have suffered greatly under the King and his men, that much I've been told."

Charles' silence was answer enough.

"Yet you are unmarked. How is it so?" 

"I..." Charles' answer was low and cracked. Remembering painful times of yore, his eyes lost focus and he had to swallow, breath deeply, before continuing, "I do have marks."

"Just not ones that can be easily seen. Those, those were erased from my skin but the invisibles ones, the scars deep within, those will always remain."

Erik envisioned himself, irrationally, ripping the wretched Cretan King apart, limb by limb, pulling out his teeth, leaving his bloodied carcass to the birds of death. A fantasy, however, and only that, for killing the vile man would break what semblance of peace existed between Crete and Athens. War his people couldn't bear to wage. Not when his father was so frail and the Kingdom so fraught. Not with Sebastian as the next in line of succession should Erik fail to prove worthy of the throne. 

He ached for Charles. His veins thrumming with rage, demanded retribution. 

Retribution for that child who was tortured for a man's ambition.

Retribution for that child who was taken from home to face death for a man's grudge.

Retribution for that child who lost his mother for a man's secret.

Erik tightened his embrace and Charles hid his face in his chest. Releasing a small laugh, Charles spoke once more.

"Aphrodite cleansed me."

Charles had met Aphrodite when one of the Athenian youths he liberated turned out to be a beloved of the Goddess. He had been the last one to leave that year, helping Charles free the others until only he was left. He had had fiery red hair, his eyes had been the blue of the sky after sunset and his pale body had been sparsely covered in dusky spots. His voice had been lovely, it had carried through the Labyrinth whenever he had sung. Raven had loved listening to him.

"Sing with me," had invited the youth once and Charles had replied forlornly, "I can't for only bad things happen when I do." The youth had looked at him with sad eyes, hadn't asked again.

The first thing the youth had done when he was freed, had been to visit the nearest Temple of Aphrodite and talk praises of him.

So Aphrodite had come to Charles one morning and seeing his scarred body, she had touched every patch of his misshapen skin, every bump and every flaw, and had erased them one by one with a tenderness Charles had never received from anyone else before. A mother's tenderness. A loving tenderness that soothed and warmed and made his eyes sting with unshed tears.

The Goddess had thanked him then and had also apologized, but she hadn't said for what. She had looked oddly regretful when she bid him farewell.

Charles didn't say more for a long time then and Erik said to him, sure of his words as sure he was of his dagger's worth:

"I will take you with me to Athens and I will introduce you to every Athenian philosopher myself, I will take you to every play and we will drink in Dionysius' name come _Elaphebolion_ every year. You won't have to hide anymore and no one will hurt you again."

"How easy is to dream, ah, Erik," Charles whispered wistfully. 

"It's not a dream, it's a promise. I will inherit Athens and when I do, it will be yours for yours will it be its King's heart."

And Erik told Charles about his father, King Jakob, about Sebastian, his crafty uncle. About his unclaimed birthright, about his defeat at the wicked Prince's hands. About the enchanted armor and sword that brought him down.

Charles listened raptly and when Erik finished his tale, he mused out loud:

"You came to slay a monster and only fulfilling such a heroic task would prove you worthy of the throne. But, Erik, even if we cheat King Kurt, we cannot cheat your father. More so if you intend not to hide me. To the King and Sebastian I would be the beast you failed to slay, proof of a broken oath. To be worthy you _must_ truly have my head," he said.

"Never!" replied Erik fiercely, "If releasing Athens of the Tribute is not glory enough, must it be that I should sacrifice you still, then I will refuse and instead I will challenge Sebastian to battle anew. With victory I shall prove my worth."

"He has Ares' armor and sword, no mortal weapon can touch him and no mortal shielding can block his blows," replied Charles, strangely calm. He was thoughtful too and tapped his plum lips with a finger.

"I will find a way to defeat him," said Erik and glared at Charles, daring him to argue his words.

But Charles didn't argue, his eyes lit up instead as he said: " _We_ will find a way. Would it be, rather, that I know an expert in all manner of weapons, mortal and godly alike, and I am sure he would not turn us down were we to ask for his advise."

A strange creature Charles was. For all his confinement, he knew of the world more than most and for all of his solitude he had quite a number of loyal friends and allies. 

Erik had come to slay a beast and had found Charles.

Erik had come to slay a beast and had found love.

A strange thing Fate was.

Erik kissed Charles, slow and gentle. Charles squirmed but Erik didn't let him go. He felt Charles legs move against his, sensuous, teasing; a hand grabbed his arse, another roamed his back. Erik smiled, deepened the kiss. When something sharp and stony cold touched against his calf, Erik stilled and tried to decipher the foreign sensation.

"It's my hoof. Apologies," said Charles, his face was pained, his cheeks red and his eyes fearful. He made to remove his leg but Erik stopped him with a sure hand, petting his furry thigh instead, then sliding further down to caress his bent leg, stroke his thin calf until he reached the hoof.

"You have beautiful legs," he said and Charles laughed. A trembling laugh full of incredulity, relief and fractured joy.

Charles clung to him then, his arms bound tight around Erik's neck, his body impossibly close. Charles licked his lips and kissed him boldly, with a passion matched only by Erik's stirring fire. The molten heat settled in his stomach and grew until it burned every inch inside Erik. 

He pushed Charles onto his back, hastily removed his _chiton_ and looked, really looked at him. 

Perfect. Marvelous. Delightful.

Charles looked exquisite beneath Erik, eyes wide, trusting, milky skin bathed in moonlight ready for the taking, a canvas to paint his ardor in kisses and bites. He lapped each pinked nub on Charles' chest until they hardened, then suckled on them, bit gently, bit again and again each time with more passion until Charles let out a bleat in the midst of his incensed moans. It made Erik burn, want more. 

Erik removed his own clothing to let Charles' hands wander over his body, curious, hungry, reverent.

"I have never touched another this way and no one has ever touched me the way you do," confessed Charles. Erik couldn't help himself, he swelled with pride and desire, he was the first one. And he would remain the only one, thought Erik fiercely, winding Charles' legs around his waist, thrusting down, making him cry out in pleasure when both their hard lengths met.

Erik had been raised a prince, he had bedded men and women, he had been given lands, he had been given rare treasures yet he had never considered any of them truly as his own. For him only his dagger was _his_ , never wanting to posses anything or anyone else.

Until Charles.

Mine, thought Erik as he pressed him to the bed.

Mine, thought Erik as his hips snapped frantically against Charles'.

Mine, thought Erik as he bit Charles' neck and marked him.

"Mine," he growled and Charles gripped him hard, his nails biting on Erik's shoulders as he bleated loudly and Erik felt warm spurts of thickness hit his stomach. Charles slumped, panting, his hands languidly soothed the stings of his clawing.

Erik sat on his haunches to better look at Charles who had a blissful smile, eyes half-lidded and glazed. His ears twitched twice and then flopped down.

"Look at me," said Erik as he coated one of his hands with Charles' seed and took himself in hand. 

"Erik..." 

Erik pumped hard and fast, taking pleasure in the way Charles' gaze focused on him and only him. Charles licked his lips, entranced, and Erik tightened his grip, his movements a blur.

"Say my name," he ordered.

"Erik," said Charles.

And Erik's strokes grew faster.

"Erik," moaned Charles.

And Erik squeezed Charles' thigh with his free hand. "Yes."

"Erik, Erik, Erik," chanted Charles.

And Erik was so close, hearing Charles' lovely voice call him so desperate, so needing. 

" _Erik, please!_ " 

And Erik released over Charles' beautiful fur, white on reddish brown, over his pale skin, the peals unmoving through the rise and fall of Charles' breathing, between his splayed legs, which were one on each side of Erik's hips.

"Charles," he sighed before falling next to him. They kissed and kissed and kissed and then Charles spoke.

"I don't want that drying there," he said pointing to the white covering most of his lower half, "It's a bother to clean and I'm quite fastidious when it comes to my fur. It also gets itchy on the skin."

That's how Charles left the _kline_ , Erik missing his warmth but enduring for the sight --though night made it difficult to appreciate the finer details-- of a smooth back and an inviting round arse.

Charles' short tail wiggled as he retrieved a cloth to soak in the fountain's water. It was hypnotizing. Erik was lost in the movement even after Charles had turned and began cleaning himself. The damp cloth was thrown into a bowl next to the fountain's basin, washed quickly, then given to Erik.

Once both were clean, Charles made to settle next to Erik but a voice called to him from the ceiling. A shadow obscured what little light was allowed into the room from the roof's barred hole.

"Is Nobody home? Nobody better be home or I'm coming in," said the voice.

Charles jumped. He put on his discarded _chiton_ hurriedly before going to meet his visitor.

"Alexandros!" Charles greeted with unrestrained joy. 

"There you are! Why haven't you been at the door? I was so worried! Is it true what Raven told me? Are you, are you going to leave the Labyrinth?"

"Yes, I will. I hope she and Hank explained the plan to you as well?"

An arm came through the bars in the ceiling searching for Charles, who climbed onto the stone table and tried to reach it, unsuccessfully. The visitor let out a dejected sigh.

An irrational feeling crossed Erik's mind and twisted in his chest. _Mine_ , it said. 

"I was going to get you out," confessed the voice, "I only needed a little more time but I was going to get you out."

"No Alexandros! It would have been too great a risk. Your family depends on you and if the King found out you helped me, you would have been tortured and killed for treason. Think of your brothers, your mother and your father! I'm glad Erik came and saved you the peril. His plan is delightfully clever."

Erik was not one to preen but Charles' words drew him a proud smirk.

"Erik is that Athenian champion they been talking about, right? How do you know he's not really out for your blood? Is he in there with you?"

"I am," replied Erik, already clothed, walking to stand next to Charles.

"He's proved himself," said Charles at the same time.

"I'm coming in!" announced the voice tightly. 

"No need Alexandros! I assure you I'm well. Erik is a good man. He is," pleaded Charles.

Alexandros and Charles bickered. They had never had an argument so heated before, would confess Charles later.

"I deign him trustworthy, that should be enough!" concluded Charles with a deep frown as he stamped his hoof on the floor, having climbed down the table to better contend his friend.

The Cretan soldier breathed soundly, a sharp heave of air that then he let out in a disapproving huff.

"Well, if that's what you want! Have at you!" he snapped. Glaring with poorly concealed anger, Alexandros shot a last threat to Erik.

"You better keep your hands to yourself and not touch a single hair of Charles or I'll skin you alive!"

Too late. 

Erik answered with a smug grin and nothing more.

"Alexandros!" called Charles but the soldier had already gone, fuming and cursing loudly.

"We've known each other all of our lives," mumbled Charles dejectedly. 

"I don't like having rows with him." 

It took Charles a long time to fall asleep after that, and even once in Morpheus embrace, he was restless. Erik had petted his ears and hair until he himself fell under the night's spell.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The **Dionysia** was a large festival in ancient Athens in honor of the god Dionysus, the central events of which were the theatrical performances of dramatic tragedies and, from 487 BC, comedies. It was the second-most important festival after the Panathenaia. The Dionysia actually consisted of two related festivals, the Rural Dionysia and the City Dionysia, which took place in different parts of the year.  
>  (Our friend Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dionysia)
> 
> The City Dionysia was held three months after the Rural Dionysia, on the 9th to 13th days of the Athenian month of **Elaphebolion** which usually was between the last days of March and first days of April.


	17. Chapter 17

**XVII  
Revelations**

  


  


"I had a strange dream once," 

Erik had yet to open his eyes to the new day when Charles voice drifted to him.

"I dreamt that the sea became angry and wild on a full moon night. It flooded the Labyrinth and I was helplessly swallowed by its murky waters of fury. The water was burning hot, it's color not blue but silvery and it threaded heavy and smooth between my fingers. I remember not being afraid of drowning; I felt, strangely, at peace in the enraged sea's embrace. The flood overwhelmed the Labyrinth, burst open the stone walls, and flowed out, taking me along. Taking me away, far away."

Erik fully awoke then, locked his gaze with Charles' but said nothing. Dreams were often better left to the air, once said aloud never spoken of again without certain wisdom, eerie mirrors of the gods and subtle thieves of the Fates' fabrics as they were. Charles knew of this and remained thereafter silent as well. He had set the dream free, not because he wished it to drift into nothingness but because he needn't its dark hope anymore. 

They kept the silence for a long time.

Eventually, Erik rose a hand to touch Charles' face. There was a familiar growth of hair along his jaw, concentrated for the most part on his chin and below.

"You are growing a beard," said Erik dully. He had felt the burn of the short hair against his skin the night before but hadn't paid close attention to the odd sensation.

"An accurate observation," replied Charles, his face devoid of any particular expression.

Erik caressed over the short hair slowly, appreciating the feel of it under his fingertips. Erik's beard was growing too, in fact, faster than Charles' for where Charles was only a hint of auburn, Erik's was already a considerable expanse of dark brown.

"You shouldn't shame yourself, Charles. You are brave enough to deserve a beard, you would still be beautiful," he said.

"I rather think I fancied myself following the fashion of the people of yore. Like the men in the old paintings at the Palace,"* Charles' voice was steady, animated even, but his eyes betrayed a deep sadness as he talked. "They all had long hair and a clean face." The lost people had also been a most intriguing society.

"That you fancy, but what is the truth?" 

Charles sighed, his features crumpled some. He replied: "The young that come to me every year, they would be even more scared had I not a welcoming face and a friendly smile on me. You may think me unmanly but they need to see me open and harmless."

They would think Charles their age, short as he was, they would listen to him, give him at least the benefit of doubt when he spoke to them with a soothing voice and an earnest smile.

"It gets in the way when grappling with the fighting youths as well. You cannot believe they all come in resigned to their fate. Have you ever had your beard pulled? It hurts quite a deal."

Erik knew, that's why he usually kept his trimmed, or did. He had shaved to trick the Cretans into believing him another Tribute. It still had been a difficult feat for his body and face weren't boyish, they hadn't been even in his beardless days. He had been closely examined twice upon his arrival before they had deemed him 'adequate'.

"You knew from the start," Erik realized. 

"Yes, I did. You don't smell terribly young Erik, poor Icarus aside, and your eyes tell many stories only an experienced man could have lived. I knew you were no Sacrifice." 

Erik's purpose had been laid bare from the start and yet, Charles had welcomed him warmly. Erik's heart felt heavy.

"I would have killed you. I would have killed you while you slept."

"I know."

Charles did.

They had a meager breakfast. Every year, the day before the Sacrifice, Hank would help Raven carry enough food for Charles and fourteen more, for the Athenians stayed a week at most, sometimes longer, while they were released. This year wasn't so, however, thanks to Erik's plan, and Charles was running short of rations. Charles' friends wouldn't be bringing more food but the necessary materials to make a bleeding head. 

It was later, around early midday, that while Erik looked after his dagger and Charles read through his parchment collection, they had a visitor.

"The Pig King is with them now," announced a voice above them.

"Alexandros, you shouldn't be here at this hour, they could find you!" worried Charles as he looked up to the ceiling's barred opening.

"Apologies, I was going to tell you yester night that he had arrived but we argued then and I was so upset that I forgot." Alexandros did his best to ignore Erik, instead looking solely at Charles.

"It means the Sacrifice will be tomorrow evening," Charles' eyes widened, "You must tell Hank and Raven. We are out of time!"

"I shall look for them today after my shift," Alexandros nodded but didn't leave, he scurried a bundle trough the ceiling bars instead. 

"It's for you, and you only!" he said, looking away quickly.

"Thank you Alexandros," smiled Charles and the soldier left in a hurry.

Inside the folded clothing were a piece of cheese and onions. Infantry food, the good kind. There was also a couple of fresh figs.

The figs had been particularly delicious, Erik decided later. He let out a contented, loud belch, and Charles, who had been tidying the room, stopped briefly to smile amusedly at him.

Charles was a very organized person. Erik had yet to see anything out of place or even a smudge of dirt anywhere. The wall with the parchments was specially cared for. 

"Will you ever tell me how you do it?" asked Charles, picking up Erik's cut ropes with a hand and the dagger with the other. He held the blade's handle between the tips of his fingers the way one would negotiate the carcass of some foul animal or the rotten remains of a forgotten meal. Erik felt the faint touch on his own skin and smiled.

He raised a hand, silently calling his dagger. It obeyed, flying to him in the blink of an eye.

Charles let out a delighted 'Ohhh' and looked at Erik with unreserved awe, his mouth open in surprise, his ears perked up in attention.

"This was my father's gift to me," said Erik.

"Athens' King?"

"No, my other father: Hephaestus."

Thus Erik let go of yet another secret of his, one that brought light to Charles' eyes, one that Charles bowed to keep to his heart 'till the end of the days: The secret of Hephaestus' dagger which commanded the metal, whose only master was Erik. The promise of a God to an admirable woman. The gift of a father to a son.

Erik's dagger.

"Your dagger," said Charles.

"My dagger," nodded Erik.

Erik's dagger.

Charles spent the rest of the morning pestering Erik with question after question on the godly blade, demanding demonstrations, wondering the possibilities.

"Could you command it to attach your self to ceilings or walls if there's metal within?"

"How heavy a load of metal can it command?"

"Could it command arrows to stop? Swords? Could it repel shields? Armors?"

"How can you tell the difference betwixt metals?"

"Could you command it to propel your self into the air by repelling metal under your feet?"

Erik proved poor in answers yet far from disappointed, Charles delighted himself in devising ways, exhausting ways, of awakening the 'true potential' of Erik's dagger.

Hank's and Raven's arrival was a welcomed blessing by midday past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Charles means the Minoan Frescoes at the Knossos Palace. Minoans are quite fascinating: they worshiped female deities and women and men had social equality. Men shaved and wore jewels.
> 
> Here's the famous Minoan bull-leaping fresco http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Knossos_bull.jpg. Men were painted in red/brown hues while women in white. And yeah, bull leaping was amazing, apparently it was a ritual where participants performed acrobatic leaps over bulls, grappling the horns so they were somersaulted into the air to do some more acrobatic stunts.
> 
>  _Cheese_ and _onions_ were foods associated with soldiers. Figs were quite loved by ancient Greeks.


	18. Chapter 18

**XVIII  
Slaying of the Beast**  


  


  
Charles and Hank worked the remaining of the day and the whole of the night as if one of Hephaestus' automatons, never tiring, ever moving.

"Ah, Charles, mayhap we would shave your head," said Hank once to Charles and a firm _NO_ resounded from three different mouths. Threats of bloody murder had also been uttered.

"'Twas a harmless suggestion! The head will need hair and your own would be preferable since, after all, it is to be a replica of you. I am not completely convinced these," Hank showed Charles a bag full of braids of different colors, "will exactly work."

Charles seemed to consider Hank's words then and Erik dreaded for Charles' beautiful locks when Raven spoke.

"Many of our good friends donated their precious hair for this, even if Charles shaved his head, his hair alone would not be enough. Think well and make a wig out of what we have, dye it to the best of your skill. It's not like the Pig King has seen, really seen, Charles in all these years."

As Hank sorted his pigments, a long talk arose between a worried Charles and a candid Raven about the source of the hair and her often rude demeanor.

"Oh no, not Ioanna, her hair was beautiful!" 

"She cut it herself gladly. Everyone did, for you." 

Erik looked at the collected hair and heard many a name as Charles guessed the donors and Raven delivered him their well-wishing regards. 

Charles was loved. 

Quite expected, however, for even Erik loved Charles.

It was dismaying, thus, to wake up the morning after to a disembodied head of Charles with his summer eyes dulled, dropping, his bright face crumpled in slack agony, jaw sagging open, his pink tongue out, drooling. The crimson stained head of Charles, smelling of death, hair dirty, hardened with mud and blood, laid on a silver platter on Charles' stone table.

"Charles..." Erik called, his throat dry, his body numb with shock.

A nightmare escaping the mind, a torment taken life, Erik woke alone in the Labyrinth's heart with only Charles' decapitated head for company.

_Not again,_

_Not again,_

He rose to his feet and cradled Charles' head in his arms, it was still warm. Erik cursed the fates for his loss, eyes closed, heart broken, his teeth clenched tight so as to no let the pain slowly corroding his soul rob the dead of their peace and quiet. 

"You are going to ruin our blood work!" screeched Hank's voice somewhere far and when Erik turned, he saw him come in from one of the room's entrances.

"How did this happen?!" growled Erik. He would exact revenge just as he had bowed to do for his mother. 

Hank's footing faltered before he spoke. "With a great amount of effort that you are throwing away by not letting the piece rest properly before the finishing touches!" he bellowed outraged.

Amazing work. Amazing realistic work that not even a seasoned warrior could have told apart.

Breathing slow, calming himself, Erik repositioned the head on the silver plate, mindful of the piece. With voice still rough, he asked for Charles.

"He's at the door talking to Alexandros. Raven and I were with him but I came back to watch upon the head," he hesitated but continued, "and you."

"You should have woken me up," 

"Charles didn't deem it a good idea. Alexandros and you don't get along, you also needed the sleep."

For he may need to fight after presenting his 'prize' to the King, to prove that he had had the strength to kill the beast. His body needed to be rested and ready for battle.

"It is warm," said Erik. Hank nodded.

"It has been bathing in the morning sun. It is to be expected."

Hank was a nice fellow. He couldn't be older than Erik, he also didn't like Alexandros very much according to some of his talk the night before. Apparently the soldier was insufferably rude to him.

So they both sat in silence, waiting for Charles' and Raven's return.

For today was the day.

Today Erik would slay the Monster of Crete and free Charles.

He noticed there was a large bag by one of the room entrances. 'Charles belongings' explained Hank when he caught him staring. 

Today was the day.

"Let's hurry Hank, we must finish the head and Erik must take it to the Labyrinth's door as soon as possible," urged Charles, alive and well, approaching them. Erik resisted the impulse to run to him, to reassure himself of his health by touching every inch of his warm, living body.

"Kurt has moved the Sacrifice forward, Alexandros warns we have a circling _hora_ at most," said Raven.

Moments later, Erik carried a silver plate with the bleeding head of Crete's Monster to the Labyrinth's golden gate, his dagger firmly tucked inside his _chiton_.

He waited.

Erik waited and fought the tightness in his chest that seeing the mockery of his beloved's head on a silver platter weighted on him.

Erik waited with the anticipation of a warrior going to battle searing hot in his veins.

Erik waited for the Golden Gate to open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hora_ = Hour.
> 
> \-----
> 
> I don't like how this chapter came out very much. Actually I'm having a hard time with this fic, I've written and rewritten and rewritten again further chapters. It's distressing because I feel I'm deviating from the style of the first chapters more and more, and that's part of why it takes me so long to update. My apologies.
> 
> I'm working without a beta too (haven't found one yet) so if anything is amiss or bothering you please point it out to me. Researching the ancient cultures is also fun but I know I'll make mistakes in this since I'm not researching very deeply, so again, feel free to tell me.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading and for your patience.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month. A month to update. I have no words and no shame, dear readers.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience.

**XIX  
End of the Curse**

  


  


Kurt, King of Crete at some untold time, strong, unyielding and rightfully feared by his people had lost his only son to Athens' neglectfulness. The Athenian King's wretched cousin, who had been in the field with the youth at the time, had denied the blame, had declared the Prince's skills lacking instead. Sebastian, Prince of Athens, had blamed the downfall of Kurt's son on the child himself.

In the Cretan King's mind, however, there was no doubt that Sebastian had purposely sent Prince Cain to be slaughtered by the enemy. He would wonder at first why had the Athenian Prince betrayed him so, then he would curse his name and curse his vile tongue, a snake of lies and hollow oaths.

He had regretted every word he had ever believed from the rotten trickster and had bowed to avenge his son, make the Athenian fox pay greatly for the grave injury to Crete's King's pride.

Their history had been an entwined travesty for the longest of times and such the wound had been a deep pit that filled with endless hatred. A grudge eternal worth of _Styx_ 's envy.

Both men had met for the first time long before Kurt had taken the throne, one had been acting as an ambassador for the Athenian King while the other had been King Brian's trusted General. One had been dissatisfied with his ambitionless monarch while the other had ambitioned his Lord's power and wealth. 

Thus they had struck a deal: Sebastian would help Kurt rise to power and, newly a King, Kurt would support every one of Prince Sebastian's campaigns for conquest, pressuring the Athenian King into agreeing with his cousin's vision.

Sebastian, a man of prodigious smarts, had mixed an undetectable poison for Kurt to sicken his King. The drug had made Brian of Crete weak, slowly guiding him toward Hades' cold embrace and no man, no expert, not even Crete's best physicians had suspected it other than an illness beyond healing. Just one more tragedy to befall the already unlucky royal family.

Kurt became King, his motherless son, Cain, became Prince.

He hadn't truly loved the Queen, in her grief stricken state, vulnerable and lonely as she had been left by her husband's death, she had been but a means to his ambitions. Thus, when in an unexpected turn of events Sharon of Crete had found the last of Sebastian's poison and mistook it for wine, the venom's cunning disguise, her inevitable passing had had no lasting weight on Kurt's spirits.

Of Queen Sharon and the late King Brian remained only a secret of shame: A child half human and half goat.

Sebastian had learned about Charles then, and had petitioned ownership but Kurt had denied his request. Time and time again Sebastian would ask for the beast and time and time again Kurt would deny him, for he had had his own designs on the half-breed.

Sebastian had been denied and Cain had died.

Hurt, betrayed and enraged, King Kurt of Crete turned on Athens and allied with her enemies. Athens' foes had been so many and their resentment so great that soon enough Crete became an unbeatable titan whose mercy came only at the price of blood, of the Athenian Sacrifice. 

Every year Athens should supply seven youths and seven maidens to his monster's hunger or perish, none of them older than Cain had been by the time of his death.

Every year Kurt would welcome the young, see that they were well fed, bathed and ready for the Labyrinth in which his monster lay. He would supervise their adequacy in both age and build, he would guide them to the sealed maze, open the gate for which the sole existing key the King himself was the owner, and wait for the demon-goat to feast on them. He would witness the carnage through a peephole on the closed golden gate.

Be it such then that, time being the less capricious of the divine gifts, found the King through these steps once more, although ignorant of the missing youth from within the condemned Athenians.

He inserted the golden key in the golden keyhole at the center of the golden gate of his monster's gargantuan maze. He took pleasure in the whimpering of the Athenian maidens, who strangled a cry with every turn of the piece, their eyes red and shimmering; in the stiff posture of the Athenian youths, who steeled themselves with stifled gasps at each clicking sound of the mechanism inside the door.

"This offer you make today has given your wretched country one more year of peace. Think of that as you travel the darkness within the maze, as sharp fangs tear your flesh, as cold hands rip your bones apart," began Kurt, his back to the golden gate whilst it slowly creaked open. 

Then, 

The cries stopped and silence fell heavy above them all. The sacrifices' eyes were round and wide.

Then,

The maidens screamed, some of them sagged to the ground unconscious, and the youths began to laugh with tears streaking down their faces, their shoulders shaking. They laughed and cried and the Cretan soldiers stared unbelieving past the vexed King into the maze.

"YOU ATHENIAN BARBAROS! BASTARD! BASTARD!" cried one of the guards with the voice of the wounded, of the broken. He gripped the hilt of his rapier and his face was red with outrage, he wept and cursed.

When the King turned to face the Labyrinth, it was to witness the bleeding head of its master on a silver tray. The young man carrying it, an Athenian, buried his hand in the mop of brown hair and lifted the head by its muddled locks.

"No more sacrifices, King Kurt of Crete, the beast is dead," he said.

"MURDERER!" shouted the weeping soldier and charged at him. They grappled on the floor, the lifeless head of Kurt's monster-- Kurt's Charles, his name was Charles,-- rolling away into a stop at the stunned King's feet.

"Charles..." said Kurt, his voice low and raw.

The night of Cain's departure to his first and last battle, Kurt had been overcome with worry and had visited the maze for even with Cain home, there wasn't a lonelier soul than the King's own. And Charles had sung to him then, at his request, and it had soothed his nerves. That Charles could still sing, monster at least, had been a gratifying surprise.

"Do you hate me?" Kurt had asked once.

"No," had replied Charles. 

Brian was dead.

Sharon was dead.

Cain was dead.

  


  


Charles was dead.

  


  


"He is not!" cried Kurt, but his soldiers where too occupied prying apart the dueling guard from the beast slayer to pay him any heed.

"He cannot be dead!" and the Athenians would rather ignore the King's presence after so much grief.

The King ran into the maze, shouting Charles' name, asking him to come forth. "You can't leave me all alone!" he howled into the darkness, his feet aching on the uneven floor, the skin of his hands peeling away where they scratched against the endless gravel walls. 

The King ran into the maze and was never seen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Styx_ was the personified spirit of hatred. Also a Titan that sided with Zeus in the Titan War.


End file.
